Chapter 35: Steeped in Betrayals

February 10, 1539, Tower of London, London, England

"Son," called the former royal chief minister. "Why have you come?"

Gregory Cromwell shuddered as he eyed his old father. Since his arrest four months earlier, Thomas Cromwell had aged and now was a ghost of his former self. Clothed in his black damask robes, he was abnormally lean, having lost much weight during his imprisonment; his pallid cheeks were hollow, new wrinkles crossed his brow and forehead, and the fire of his eyes seemed gone.

"I'm not a minister anymore." Cromwell's crooked grin was a pale semblance of his once haughty countenance. "Do I look like a man slipping away, slowly but steadily?"

His shocked son sighed. "Yes. Are you eating anything, Father?"

Cromwell's expression was impassive, yet his son noted the pulse beating madly against his throat. Immeasurable hatred for the tyrannical King of England overwhelmed Gregory like venom. Implacable and potent, it was suffocating his lungs, and he was helpless in its tight grip. My beloved father has not merited a traitor's death, the young man thought. He did so many great things for the king and England, but a gruesome end is his reward for all his loyalty.

The cell was not large, dirty, and stuffy. There was a narrow bed, a chair, and a desk with several leather-bound volumes; the bleak light poured in from the small window above the bed.

With a sigh, Gregory stepped to the chair, which his father occupied.

"Gregory," Cromwell addressed his son. "It was a huge mistake on your part to return to London. You might be apprehended upon the king's orders. I fear that Norfolk or Surrey might concoct charges against you, even if His Majesty could have forgotten about you."

"But Father–" Gregory attempted to contradict, but he was interrupted.

The former chief minister insisted, "Run to one of our estates."

The young man knelt in front of his parent's chair. Taking Cromwell's hand in his, he bared his heart. "How can I leave you here? It is a son's duty to take care of their parents and to defend them from injustice. What a horrible person I would be if I abandoned you?"

Cromwell squeezed his son's hand, while his other hand patted his hair. "Gregory, I'm so proud of you, of the man you have become. I wish you happiness together with your wife."

A smile flicked across Gregory's countenance. "Elizabeth! If two years ago you had told me that we would find contentment together, I would have laughed. It is a mystery to me how I awakened a strong affection for me in my feisty, haughty wife. With the birth of our son, Henry, we discovered that we cannot breathe without one another. When she got pregnant again, we confessed to loving each other. But when you were arrested, our world was shattered."

There was a smile of unutterable relief on Cromwell's features. "The knowledge that you have found your soulmate is my best consolation, son. Your wife and your mother are namesakes, and I pray that you will have the same true family happiness as one I experienced. Love your wife and children with all your heart, and spend the rest of your days with them."

"I shall take her and our son to the countryside. Neither she nor I want to return to court."

"That is the right decision, son. Politics is for those who are interested in power, status, and wealth. You are my opposite: I've always been an ambitious man driven by a desire to climb as high as I could, while you have a noble-minded and poetic soul unblemished by infamy."

After a thoughtful pause, the former minister continued, "I was born in such a poor family that in childhood we sometimes had no bread to eat. When I grew up, I swore that my family would never be hungry again. I was an opportunist in my early adulthood: I traveled through France, Italy, and the Low Countries, where I served as a mercenary, offering my services to those who paid more. In 1515, I returned to England and married your mother. Then I entered Cardinal Wolsey's service and obtained a seat in the House of Commons as a burgess."

Gregory's gaze conveyed admiration. "Your accomplishments are so impressive!"

Cromwell grinned sadly. "I've paid a high price for my ascendance to power. At first, I wanted to earn some money and obtain the reputation of a competent advisor to ensure that my family would be well provided for. But the richer I was getting, the more I craved to be influential and prove to all the English nobles that a man of humble origins may become a great statesmen."

His son looked surprised at his father's confession. "Did power blind you, Father?"

"Yes. It corrupted me," Cromwell acknowledged. "A royal court is like a lethal snake-pit, where a false move, caused by moments of frustration or by some mistake, or any crafty enemy might destroy you. Any court is a dramatic place replete with intrigue and treachery." His hand stroked the younger man's cheek. "That is why this place is not for you, son."

"Especially King Henry's court." Gregory's expression contorted in revulsion.

Cromwell looked at the closed door fearfully before his gaze rested upon his son's face. "Do not say such dangerous things. There are many eyes and ears inside the Tower."

Gregory lowered his voice. "Do you think the king can spare you?"

His parent's laugh was a response. "Few people are released from the Tower." He spoke with tremendous bitterness. "Unlike Anne Boleyn, I'll not leave my prison alive."

His son stared at him, furious and powerless. "Why is His Majesty so ungrateful? You have done so much good for England! I'll avenge your fall! Norfolk, Surrey, and Bryan will pay!"

An agitated Cromwell jerked to his feet, as if he had been struck. Gregory stood up as well.

Gazing into his son's eyes, the prisoner enjoined, "Gregory, you will do as I've commanded. You shall always stay away from politics and court. You shall never work against any English lord, especially the Howards. You will never say any bad thing about His Majesty."

Gregory countered, "Father, it is my duty to restore justice for you."

His parent implored, "Let me die in peace, knowing that you won't follow in my footsteps!"

"I do not want power!" Gregory clamored. "I want justice!"

"Swear on my grandchild's life that you will not do any foolishness."

"Father, wanting justice is not the same as yearning for vengeance. It is–"

The prisoner cut him off strictly and sharply. "Do this. Now."

Reluctantly, Gregory uttered, "I swear that I'll not interfere in politics, and I shall not break my vow." He balled his fists. "But those who brought you to ruin, Father, imperiled their immortal souls, and on the Judgment Day, God will show more mercy to Sodom than to any of them."

"The soul of every man is in the Almighty's hands. Leave judgment to Him."

"What now?" A weird feeling of premonition crawled down Gregory's spine.

Cromwell inhaled and exhaled nervously. "You ought to leave."

Tears welled in Gregory's eyes. "I love you, Father!"

"I love you too, son." An affectionate smile warmed his tired features.

Looking at his only surviving child, Cromwell felt as though the world had been broken into countless tiny pieces. They embraced so tightly that they resembled an odd many-limbed creature. As each of them knew that it was their last meeting, the awful realm of opaque grief, where they had both submerged, seemed abysmal, so they could never reach the end and touch its bottom.

After pulling apart from him, the prisoner said, "It is time, son."

"Father…" Gregory trailed off as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Cromwell made the sign of the cross on his son's forehead. "God will protect you. Go!"

This time, the young man obeyed and trudged towards the door. Nonetheless, he paused and murmured with anguish, "I adore you and your achievements, Father. May the Lord bless you!"

As Gregory knocked on the door, the sentinels opened it and let him out, then closed it.

§§§

Lady Elizabeth Cromwell née Seymour awaited her husband outside. The gray silhouette of the Tower loomed ominously above her. The city's inhabitants gathered in the courtyard, their faces tinged with anticipation of bloodshed. The air was chilly and crisp, but the people continued arriving despite the cold. It was snowing slightly, and cold wind lashed at her from the leaden sky.

A male voice snapped Elizabeth out of her reverie. "Nicholas Carew will be executed soon."

As Elizabeth swung around, her gaze fell upon her brother's smug face. "You!"

"Me!" Edward cried arrogantly. "I'm the king's new chief minister."

"I see," she said in a voice laced with astonishment. "How?"

Edward eyed her from top to toe. "Again pregnant?"

"It is none of your business." She tucked her sable cloak tight around her body to ward off the freezing cold. "Are you going to help your family, Ned?"

He smirked. "Should I drag my relatives out of the dirt?"

She was fighting to keep a hold onto her temper. "Once you told me that only you and I are smart enough to succeed at court and not to become victims of deadly intrigues."

His expression was one of condescending superiority. "No woman can be cleverer than man. However, you and I are both people of intellectual pursuits, who have a penchant for intrigues. Nevertheless, right now there is more water in your head than in Jane's."

Elizabeth countered, "What an enlightening thing to learn about myself. My words will not surprise you: I strongly disagree with your assessment of my personality and intellect."

"You used to despise Gregory Cromwell. I'm astounded with your change of heart and your desire to accompany him into permanent exile from court. His charms instilled stupidity into your head. That boy ensnared you in such a way that your previously brightest witticisms now seem to be only banalities. Or is he so good in bed that you quickly fell for him?"

She stepped back from him before hissing, "Do not disparage my spouse!"

Edward arched a brow. "So enamored of that foolish boy?"

"Gregory is a far better man than you can ever be. He has a heart of pure gold." Her features scintillated with a blithesome smile as she asserted breathlessly, "Gregory's noble character was like a tiny ribbon of the most brilliant blue water that ever flowed through the dirty waters of the Tudor court. Once I realized how different from others he is, I fell in love with him."

Edward sniggered with dark amusement. "All mankind is divided into those who are able to succeed and those who can be only miserable. Priests nowhere showed greater wisdom than in telling their female parishioners that, being inferior to men, women must obey their fathers and husbands. Once I thought that you are an exception, but love made you worse than the feeble-minded Jane. Only my wife, Anne Stanhope, stands out of numerous obtuse women."

His contempt irked Elizabeth far more than his insults could. In childhood, she had adored Edward, having been closer to him than to her other siblings. Now his chilly glare was that of a man corrupted by an insane hunger to dominate the world. When did Edward become so heartless?

Elizabeth's face turned into implacable disdain. "There is no subtle feeling in your heart. But love and faith give strength to withstand the most horrendous situations and circumstances. Your life is in such disarray! In case of your downfall, your spouse might desert you."

"I'm the king's most trusted servant!" Edward exclaimed. "I can regret nothing in life!"

"Once Master Cromwell was the most powerful minister in England. Where is he now?"

"I don't care about your opinion, sister," he spat. "Watch your tongue."

Shivering from the cold, she moved the thread of the conversation to the theme that worried her a lot. "I've heard about Jane's betrothal to the Earl of Northumberland. This man is Anne Boleyn's former sweetheart, and he must still love her. The king strives to torment Jane."

"Our sovereign's wishes are the law." Edward's voice brooked no room for argument.

"Protect Jane from King Henry, brother. Be careful, or your success might go to your head."

Gathering her skirts, Elizabeth raced towards a quay where boats were moored. As she neared the River Thames, she found Gregory on the quay and launched herself into his arms.

She dissolved into tears. "I love you so, Gregory. Never abandon me!"

Her husband pressed her to his chest. "You are the mistress of my heart."

At last, she parted from him. "How was your visit to Master Cromwell?"

Gregory's gaze drifted towards the courtyard where the scaffold was surrounded by a large throng. "So many are intending to watch the execution of Sir Nicholas Carew, the Pope's agent as Norfolk says. However, more spectators will assemble to enjoy my father's end."

Elizabeth patted his shoulder. "Don't think about that, husband."

"God's blood, is death so amusing? Is that why people are eager to see bloody spectacles?"

She wrapped her cloak more closely about her. "Death is a long voyage to the Creator. Your father will display his courage until his last minute, but you do not need to watch that."

He veered his despondent gaze to her. "I shall not be able to."

As tears flowed from Gregory's eyes, Elizabeth brushed them away tenderly. Her husband looked like an angel in mourning. Thirst for wealth and power was the root of evil, which could break anyone's spiritual world, just as it had ruined Thomas Cromwell's. My Gregory is different from his father. Not manipulative and corrupt, he cannot hurt others for his own personal gain.

They gasped as someone shouted, "Kill the Pope's rat!"

Gregory inhaled desperately for air. "Let's leave this dreadful place."

Elizabeth nodded. "Yes, my darling."

The spouses hurried along the quay and boarded a boat. The Thames was not frozen, and when it drifted off downstream, Elizabeth slipped her hand into the pocket of her cloak, curling her fingers around a coin. Then she tossed it into the water, sighing deeply.

"Why?" asked Gregory. "Does it mean something?"

"My mother believes that throwing coins into the water brings gladness."

He glanced in the direction of the Tower of London, which was receding into the distance. "The pain of losing a parent cannot be drowned even in the joy of having a child. It is everlasting!"

"Without pain, how could we know gladness, Gregory?"

As he touched his wife's stomach through her cloak, the warmth of their gazes was stronger than any hug. I've surrendered to Gregory because he is my true love, Elizabeth mused, her eyes glittering with devotion. Women who entered arranged unions did not open up to their spouses, but she was fortunate to experience a mutual love finer than romances glorified in poems.

§§§

Charles Brandon, Duke of Suffolk, strode across the cell to a window. Escorted by many arquebusiers, Sir Nicholas Carew prodded along the snow-covered path towards Tower Green. The area was literally paved with faces of those who hankered to watch his execution.

The door banged open, and Henry Howard, Earl of Surrey, halted on the threshold. "Did the executions of the pilgrims make Your Grace so willing to watch bloody performances?"

Suffolk swiveled to face him. "Your lordship's sense of humor is superb."

"Yours is more acrid." Surrey crossed to the window and stopped behind the duke.

"Doesn't Princess Elizabeth need you as her protector, Lord Surrey?"

The earl informed, "I spent several months guarding Her Highness at Hatfield. It was a sheer pleasure for me to be in her company. But the plot against her collapsed, and I have other duties."

The Brandon upstart looks exhausted, Howard noted to himself. Although Charles occupied quarters for high-ranked prisoners, he had lost weight. His doublet of green brocade, ornamented with pearls, and his matching hose set off his pallor. The spacious room, furnished with a canopied bed and mahogany furniture, attested to the prisoner's close relationship with the king.

Turning his head away from his guest, Brandon stared out. The crowd roared curses and insults as Carew mounted the scaffold draped in black cloth. His countenance tranquil and his head held high, his red clothing ensemble necessary to make everyone associate his demise with one of a Catholic martyr. Carew looked down on the human sea without any trace of fear.

To the right from the scaffold was the wooden platform for the peers of the English realm. Edward Seymour, Earl of Hertford, stood near Archbishop Thomas Cranmer, both of them pleased that the Pope's agent would be destroyed. Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk, Sir Francis Bryan, and Hal Courtenay, Marquess of Exeter, kept at a distance from them, their expressions blank.

"Open the window," Surrey barked. "We shall listen."

In the next moment, a guard darted towards them, bowed, and complied with the order. The frosty air stung Surrey's and Suffolk's faces, but they seemed unconcerned by it.

"It is a bit windy," Howard noted. "Isn't Your Grace afraid to catch cold?"

Brandon grouched, "Not after spending here several months."

The earl jested, "Once the court life made you somewhat effeminate. But the fear of death has a way of creeping into the tiniest crack in your loyalty to His Majesty, don't you think so?"

"Don't provoke me," Charles ground out. "I've always been loyal to our liege lord."

A laugh erupted from the other man. "Life is changeable like weather."

Carew's voice caused them to glance at the scaffold. "Norfolk and Hertford," Carew told the two councilors. "God have mercy on your souls. I forgive you for arranging my downfall."

"Nicholas Carew," Herford addressed the throng, "is the vilest traitor to the Crown. Our most benevolent King Henry trusted and loved him. However, this worm betrayed his allegiance to our sovereign by secretly working for Pope Paul the Third. For a long time, he spied for the Vatican and passed on information to our Catholic adversaries, including those whose aim is to depose His Majesty." He paused for effect and ended with, "But these are not his worst crimes."

Exclamations of shocked surprise filled the air. Hertford waved his hand for silence.

Seymour voiced the main accusation. "The Pope instructed that traitor to murder Princess Elizabeth Tudor so that the treacherous Lady Mary Tudor, who escaped to Spain, would become the king's only living child. It was God's will that we discovered this blasphemous plot."

This produced a wild roar of hatred from the reformers. Even Catholics, who had signed the Oath only for form's sake, looked horrified, shaking their heads in disbelief.

"That traitor was sent by the Pope who is worse than the devil!"

"Carew must pay for his crimes against His Majesty and England!"

"It is a dreadful sin to harm an innocent child! Carew must die!"

"Princess Elizabeth is just a girl! She must be protected!"

"The Catholics are corrupted by evil, especially the Pope!"

"The popery must be eradicated from English soil!"

"That Carew dog shall be burning in hell for his treachery!"

"Could Lady Mary order her sister's death from Spain?"

"Silence!" Hertford bellowed and waited until they quietened down. "Princess Elizabeth is safe! Today, we have gathered here to oversee the punishment of Nicholas Carew. All those who dare work with the Pope will meet their maker on the block. There will be no exceptions!"

Norfolk interjected, "Let it be known across the realm that every traitor to England and King Henry will follow in this blackguard's footsteps. Nicholas Carew was stripped of all his titles, and the bill of attainder was passed by Parliament for him. Now proceed with the execution!"

Meanwhile, Suffolk and Surrey observed the competition between Norfolk and Hertford.

"Hertford is too self-assured," Surrey spewed between clenched teeth.

"Indeed." Despite his imprisonment, Suffolk knew about Edward's career progress. "He is overconfident now. Your father, Norfolk, must hate that he is not the royal chief minister."

Howard cast a sly glance at him. "Aren't you envious of Hertford?"

Brandon throttled his ire. "I'm a prisoner. My dreams are about freedom."

Nicholas Carew said a few prayers, but he did not ask for forgiveness. Then he knelt.

The rich tenor of Carew's voice carried out over the concourse. "I beseech you all to believe that I die in the Catholic faith that is the only true religion in the world. Everything else is heresy that must be annihilated from the face of the earth through fire and blood. I've merited a thousand deaths for signing the Oath because I endangered my immortal soul, but I pray that my compliance with His Holiness' orders will sway our gracious Lord to forgive me for this sin."

This was met by condemning cries from the reformers and silence from the Catholics.

Carew repeated in Latin the Miserere psalm, the psalm de Profundis, and the Paternoster. He made the sign of the cross upon the block before kneeling. The executioner severed his head with one clean strike, and as it fell onto a pile of straw, the blood reddening it, it started snowing harder. The Catholics were now in tears, while the others exploded with shrieks of jubilation.

"Many pity him," the Earl of Surrey commented. "Despite everything."

"The edifice of the Reformation is fragile," Suffolk assessed. "The Howards are Catholics, so you must be happy that most of the population have not abjured the true faith."

Surrey jeered, "Do you really believe in God, Your Grace?"

"And do you, your lordship? Or are you motivated primarily by lust for privileges?"

The earl closed the window. Flicking his gaze to the duke, he spoke quietly. "Regardless of what we believe in, our lives are in our sovereign's hands. Our wrong word, move, or glance, and you will be a head shorter. Doesn't your own case prove the royal fickleness?"

"How dare you insult His Majesty!" As usual, Suffolk defended his royal friend.

Surrey sniggered at the prisoner. "Be smarter in choosing your allies."

Brandon's expression changed into confusion. "What are you implying?"

"Fool." Surrey rolled his eyes. "Hertford has too much power."

Charles gaped at him. "What are you offering?"

"Think about it." Surrey extracted a sheet of paper from a pocket of his doublet. "You are aware of Queen Anne Bassett's passing and Prince Edward's birth. The king, who still resides at Winchester Castle, wishes to see you. He needs his best friend in the days of grief."

Disbelief was etched into Suffolk's features. "Is His Majesty releasing me?"

"Indeed, but he also wants to discuss my cousin Anne's situation with you."

Fright flickered in Brandon's eyes. "What does he know?"

The Earl of Surrey predicted in a sardonic undertone, "From now onwards, your relationship with our monarch will always be like a cat-and-a-mouse game. I do not think he will kill you, but he can have you jailed from time to time to remind you that he is the master of your fate."

"The Countess of Worcester," began the Duke of Suffolk. "Is she still jailed?"

Surrey scoffed. "Worried about your former allies? Lady Elizabeth Somerset, Countess of Worcester, still resides in the Tower. After her arrest, she miscarried, which is her punishment for the false testimony against Anne. Her husband, Lord Worcester, dissociated himself from her."

"I see." That was all Suffolk could say on the matter.

"Tomorrow Audley, the former Lord Chancellor, and Lady Worcester will be executed."

Charles nodded. "I expected that to happen."

Surrey continued, "Audley and Carew were attained, so their families lost everything. Only Lord Worcester managed to keep his properties, although the Crown confiscated his wife's own lands. Be extremely careful: you know what might happen to you."

After handing the parchment to the duke, the earl quitted the cell. Wondering whether he had been proposed to ally against Hertford, Brandon unfolded and read the ruler's decree.

Now I'm free, the Duke of Suffolk mused with a blend of bafflement and relief. Since his arrest, he had been guessing what the king would do to him. Although Norfolk and Surrey had visited him on rare occasions, he had never been interrogated. Apparently, he had angered his liege lord, which had resulted in his arrest, but his future remained uncertain. Now Charles could leave the Tower, but the last thing he wished was to return to court and see the monarch.

As the image of his lovely wife blazed through his brain, Suffolk's lips parted, as if he were breathing out his fierce passion for Catherine, which was thrumming through his veins like molten lava. During his imprisonment, Brandon's memories of his duchess had kept him alive and sane. Charles vowed that if he was pardoned, his love for his spouse would be expressed in his exclusive and chivalrous devotion to her, and that his fidelity to Catherine would be absolute.

Putting the document onto a table, Charles eased himself into a chair. "I'll return to you, my dearest Cathy. I love you and intend to have you. Nothing on earth can separate us."

As his train of thought floated to Surrey's hints, snakes of terror coiled inside of Suffolk. Had King Henry learned something about Charles' role in Cromwell's conspiracy against Anne Boleyn? As the former chief minister was imprisoned, could Norfolk find evidence against Suffolk as well? I am so afraid to face my fate that will be determined by the king, Suffolk resolved.

§§§

"His Majesty intends," began the Duke of Norfolk with a malevolent grin, "to look into my niece Queen Anne's case. I've gathered a great deal of the most credible evidence against you. The king will rapidly realize that you falsified the charges against Anne."

Norfolk entered the former minister's cell after the execution had ended. His expression malignant, he towered over the hapless prisoner, who seemed to sag deeper into his chair.

"I've expected that." If Cromwell was shocked, he did not show it.

"At the beginning of March, I'll preside over your public trial and oversee that you will be exposed as the most diabolical heretic and traitor. My intention is to have you executed on the Solemnity of Annunciation. The snow will thaw by this time, and many will travel to London."

"Do you want to kill me on a holy day so that my demise is viewed as God's will?"

Despite his intense loathing for the man, Norfolk could not deny Cromwell's logical abilities. "You will die on this religious feast, although you are unworthy of such a great honor."

Cromwell dived into an ocean of philosophical thoughts. "Earthly wisdom comes naturally to all those who face an awful lot of trials and tribulations with courage. In the meantime, people acquire godly wisdom only if the Holy Spirit considers them the Lord's true servants. God expects us to live pious lives, but even if we do not, He will be merciful to His children."

The duke hissed, "Not to a damned heretic such as yourself, Cromwell."

"At least, I am not a vile papist." There was no malice in the prisoner's tone.

"Stand up and pay obeisance to those who are superior to you in station."

Cromwell stood up and bowed. "Ah, so angry! I can still rub you the wrong way!"

Norfolk warded off the impulse to strangle his adversary. "Cromwell, you were stripped of your titles and offices. The overwhelming majority of your estates were confiscated, save a few of them where your son, Gregory, must retire with his wife. The reason why your son was not attained is that you didn't organize a plot against Princess Elizabeth, unlike Nicholas Carew."

"I am grateful to the king for letting my son some to keep some manors."

"Cromwell, now you are nothing: worse than a piece of dirt under my feet. I'll send an invitation to your disgraced son Gregory to attend your trial. Let your son see the fruits of his father's labors and realize that a blacksmith's son cannot hold England's power for long."

"Gregory should not return! He–" The prisoner broke off, gasping.

"He will," his tormentor pledged. "He will not miss his father's trial."

Cromwell was now desperate. "You will not harm my son!"

Norfolk's leer was like a dagger to his heart. "Beg me! Kneel, you scum!"

To his amazement, the former councilor dropped to his knees. "You do hate me, Your Grace, but my son has never been your enemy. He is far from politics. Let him live in obscurity!"

The duke stepped forward and grabbed his adversary by the hair. "If your son is a clever boy, he will live in the countryside for the rest of his life and never return to court."

"That Gregory will do," Cromwell stammered. "He promised me that."

Norfolk released him. He brushed his hand against the sleeve of his doublet, as if to get rid of the filth that smeared it after he had touched his foe's hair. "Then your whelp will be well."

The prisoner stood up. "Enjoy your victory, but the king might murder you later."

The duke started for the door. "Even if it occurs, you will not see it." He then left.

Cromwell strode over to a table and grabbed the dagger that the Earl of Surrey had forgotten in his cell after the recent interrogation. He could not wait until he was exposed as a traitor to the public. His trial would not have favorable consequences for him and Gregory. The most sensible course of action was to rid himself of the shame in whatever way Cromwell could.

"I shall cleanse my conscience," Thomas told himself, his fingers caressing the blade.

Putting the dagger away, the prisoner picked up the quill and wrote his confession.

Your Majesty,

I, still your most loyal servant, congratulate you on the birth of Edward Tudor, Prince of Wales. My condolences on your loss of Queen Anne Bassett, may God rest her soul.

Duty to Your Majesty and regard for the preservation of my immortal soul command me to entreat your attention. I've sinned horribly against Queen Anne Boleyn and the Almighty.

When you got tired of your wife, I did not find any grounds for annulment of your union with Queen Anne. Her betrothal to the Earl of Northumberland was dissolved properly, which is fixed in relevant papers, so we could not use her rumored pre-contract. Moreover, I could see that your subjects did not love Queen Anne, who also became my enemy because she was an obstacle on Your Majesty's and my path to the total destruction of the Catholic Church in England.

I'm now writing the full confession of my misdeeds. Having allied myself with the Duke of Suffolk, the Imperial Ambassador Eustace Chapuys, Sir Nicholas Carew, and Sir John Seymour, I used the chance to eliminate your former wife from the landscape of English politics and royalty. After browbeating her ladies-in-waiting into supplying me with false testimonies, I manufactured the phony charges against the queen. Lady Elizabeth Somerset, Countess of Worcester, and Lady Anne Braye, Baroness Cobham, were the two main informers against Queen Anne.

Guilt over Queen Anne's unfair condemnation is twisting my insides. If the Creator decides to make me suffer agonies of hell once I'm executed, I shall gladly accept my punishment for all my sins. Thanks be to God, I do not have the queen's blood on my hands, which are nevertheless tainted with her brother George's blood and that of the other innocent men unjustly condemned.

I beseech you to take pity on my son, Gregory. He has never been involved in any plots and intrigues, so I plead with my king that your indignation does not fall upon my boy.

From the bottom of my repentant heart, I wish Your Majesty and your dynasty to rule our country, free from the Catholic bondage, for long. I most earnestly implore Your Majesty to grant me your clemency, just as I'm praying to the Almighty to atone for my villainies.

Your former chief minister, Thomas Cromwell

Having signed the letter, Cromwell put it on the table, his heart lighter than moments ago.

The monarch's former main councilor took the blade and plunged it between his ribs, while chanting psalms in English. Jolts of pain shot through him, as though a thousand shards of glass were biting at his body. Then a feeling of triumph that he had aided the king to obtain supreme power by breaking from the Vicar of Rome overwhelmed him. It was Cromwell who had helped eradicate the Catholic Church in England, and future generations would be grateful to him.

"Wolsey," whispered Cromwell as he tumbled to the floor, a puddle of blood forming under his body. "Queen Anne… Your Majesty… forgive me…" His vision was getting blurry.

Waves of agony were moving through the prisoner's body. A quiet scream erupted from his mouth, but Cromwell gnashed his teeth to prevent himself from crying out. Blood leaking out of his wound like molten lava, he found the strength to cross himself before his breathing became shallow. As life was leaving him like a leaking sieve, Cromwell envisaged the green-eyed blonde beauty – his deceased wife, Elizabeth, who extended a hand to him – and he gripped it in awe.

"Elizabeth," Thomas Cromwell murmured with contentment. Then he breathed his last.

February 20, 1539, Winchester Castle, Winchester, Hampshire, England

In his study, King Henry lounged in an oak armchair adorned with leaf motifs. His glance darted around the walls swathed in tapestries of King Edward I the Confessor who was the last Anglo-Saxon ruler of England, shifting to the door several times, as if he were expecting someone.

The monarch remained at Winchester after the burial of Queen Anne Bassett. The plans for the funeral had been delegated to the Earl of Hertford and Sir William Paulet. The cortege had delivered the body from Winchester to Windsor. Lady Honor Granville, the late queen's mother, had acted as the chief mourner. Prince Edward had been taken to Hatfield to Princess Elizabeth.

"Cromwell is dead," the monarch uttered with a half-vicious, half-amused lilt to his voice.

"Yes," confirmed the Duke of Norfolk. "He committed suicide in order to avoid his public trial. He also left a letter for Your Majesty that is in fact his last confession."

"What to do with Cromwell's body?" enquired Edward Seymour, the new chief minister, directed his chilly stare at the duke, then flicked it back to their liege lord. "Master Gregory Cromwell requests that Your Majesty permit him to bury his father on his own."

The king voiced his decision. "Have Cromwell's head severed from the corpse, and then have it displayed on a spike on London Bridge. His remains should be buried in the Chapel Royal of St Peter ad Vincula within the Tower of London, just as it happens to all traitors."

Hertford smirked. "Gregory Cromwell will be most unhappy to receive such news."

Henry snarled, "I care not what that boy thinks. He and his wife are banished permanently."

The earl bowed in obedience. Edward had anticipated that, and it would be the best course of action for his sister, whom he still loved, to stay away from court. "It will be done, sire."

The Duke of Norfolk interposed, "Cromwell's letter and the materials I've collected prove his treachery. His corpse ought to be quartered, and each part must be put on spikes in the Tower."

Henry was intrigued. "Let me see them."

Norfolk strolled over to the king's table and handed the document to him.

After unfurling the parchment, the ruler's eyes skimmed through the text.

When he finished reading, the monarch remained utterly and wholly mute for a while. His mental sensations alternated between disbelief, confusion, and horror. A tangle of these feelings tore and struck, clawed and bit in a frenzy of wild collisions and emerging contradictions, painting the landscape of the king's inclination to believe the worst about Anne Boleyn.

The sheet of paper fell to the desk, and the ruler stretched his hand towards a decanter. He poured a goblet of ale and drained it in one draught, wishing for something more potent than ale.

At last, Henry shifted his gaze to Norfolk. "That Boleyn trollop cannot be innocent." The king's eyes gleamed with a feverish insanity caused by the revelation of the truth about Anne.

"Sire, please look at the papers." The duke raised his brows to accentuate his words.

Hertford inquired, "What are they about?"

Norfolk tightened his jaw. "I've led the new investigation into Queen Anne's case."

"Why don't I know about it?" questioned the chief minister.

Henry's glower fixed upon Edward. "Herford, don't cross a line."

Hertford said cautiously, "I am sorry, but I just want to stay informed."

The monarch ignored his minister. "Norfolk, give the collected evidence to me."

At Norfolk's sign, a servant brought a pile of parchments and placed it on the desk.

The ruler bellowed out, "Out!" Bowing, they vacated the room.

During the next hour, the monarch analyzed Norfolk's documents. Testimonies of Anne's former ladies-in-waiting claimed that the queen had slept with her brother George Boleyn, Henry Norris, Francis Weston, and William Brereton. However, the dates of her alleged adulteries looked very odd. King Henry recalled that Anne and he had been far from the places where she had supposedly dallied with her paramours. Furthermore, Anne could not have been intimate with any of them in a week or two after their daughter Elizabeth's birth and after her two miscarriages.

The inconsistency of these dates was not the only reason for the king's fledgling doubts of Anne's guilt. In her testimony, Lady Margery Horsman had not only confronted Cromwell about the absurdity of the charges, but had also defended her mistress, having said that Anne had loved Henry so blindly that she had not seen her husband's faults. The ruler also discovered a letter from Ambassador Chapuys to Emperor Carlos, where he had described their plot with Cromwell, and the mention of Suffolk in this document struck him like an icy wave breaking upon the shore.

Henry re-read Cromwell's farewell letter again, struggling to believe in it. He placed it on the desk and blew a breath of incandescent fire onto it. A vortex of fury swirled inside him, and the king was not sure that he could continue breathing from the consternation and disbelief that were spreading through him. His lungs, muscles, and thoughts all froze on one unbelievable and horrifying point: Cromwell confessed that he had falsified the charges against Anne.

All these things seem to be true, but I'm not guilty of Cromwell's crimes, Henry consoled himself. But then his brain refuted the possibility of Anne's innocence, for the quintessence of her life was lust for power, which was proved by her marriage to King François. The harlot always thought out her every step and word before her sharp tongue began to tease and mock, attracting admirers and stinging foes. Her diabolical allure transformed her admirers into love-struck fools.

"Anne is a traitor!" A fist of hatred for his former queen slammed Henry in the gut. "Even if she was innocent, she committed another worse betrayal – she wed François."

Since learning about her wedding to François, Henry kept persuading himself that Anne would make the already frivolous Valois court more like a scarlet-hued Eastern harem of the worst lewdness. Yet, ever since his obsession with Anne had taken its roots within his soul, the monarch would have disavowed from the admiration of the whole universe just to steal a kiss from her lips.

The king noticed the Earl of Hertford standing in the doorway; Norfolk was gone.

Henry enquired, "Was Suffolk released from the Tower?"

"Yes, but His Grace retired to his estates," reported the chief minister.

"What?" The monarch jumped to his feet with a look of berserk rage. "How does Charles dare disobey me? I enjoined him to come to Winchester as soon as possible."

"Should I send guards for him to Westhorpe Hall, Your Majesty?"

"No," the ruler answered. "He will be banished until I need him."

"As you command." Bowing to him, the earl walked out of the chamber.

"Charles has defied me." Henry barely whispered the words aloud, but it felt like they had been ripped from his throat. "Did he perpetrate the treachery against Anne with Cromwell?"

The ruler eased himself back into the armchair to concentrate on Norfolk's documents. He had to investigate everything himself, even though he had much to lose lest Anne turned out to be really innocent, although it would be beneficial for the future of Princess Elizabeth.

§§§

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, strolled with Lady Jane Seymour in the gardens. Each of them felt ill at ease as they meandered through alleys of barren trees silvered with snow. The afternoon was cold and windy, and the sky was a leaden mass of churning gray clouds.

Percy offered, "If you don't want to stroll anymore, we may return to the castle."

Jane wrapped her cloak tightly around her. "It is fine, my lord."

They stopped beneath a series of old oaks at a small distance from each other. Propping one foot against a fallen branch of some tree, the earl leveled a penetrating look at her, as if wishing to pry into Jane's innermost thoughts. She averted her scrutiny and heard Percy sigh.

Northumberland requested, "How was it to be married to King Henry?"

Jane observed a squirrel frantically searching the ground for acorns or something else to eat. "Even a simple acquaintance with His Majesty might lead to your untimely death."

"However, you are alive and in England." It was unfair that Jane's union with the monarch had been annulled, while Anne had been accused of abominable things and ejected.

She sniffed. "I would prefer to be exiled on the continent rather than marry you."

Percy apologized, "I did not mean to hurt you, my lady."

"Aren't you the noble one," she taunted sarcastically, veering her gaze to him. "You married the late Lady Mary Talbot, allowing Queen Anne to become the Scandal of Christendom as your former sweetheart seduced King Henry. She did not love you anymore and fell for His Majesty, while you stepped aside because of the nobility of your heart. Or was it different?"

A scowl marred his features. "Don't slander Anne! Never in my presence!"

Nodding, Jane avouched, "I no longer despise Anne Boleyn."

Northumberland saw only sincerity in his bride's eyes. "My gravest mistake is that I did not fight for Anne. I should have eloped with her when Thomas Boleyn was forcing her to put herself in the king's path. But I obeyed my late father and the king and married the late Lady Talbot."

"History would have been very different, then." Jane leaned against the oak's trunk.

"Aren't you dwelling on what might have been? On how your life could have gone if King Henry and Queen Anne did not go to Wulfhall, where you caught his eye?"

It surprised Jane that Percy could read her mind. "I cannot prohibit myself from having such musings." After a sigh, she revealed, "I am a woman who was a tool in the hands of her ambitious relatives, just as Anne was. Try being a woman for five minutes, and you will rapidly discover that a man of the lowest station has more privileges than any female aristocrat does."

Percy speculated, "Nevertheless, women are the real architects of society. All wars happen because of man's lust for power, wealth, and women. Clever ladies can rule any man's mind."

"That is not my fate. Since childhood, I was told that I could not govern my own life. For years, I remained unmarried because my parents did not arrange a match for me for some reason. However, they were all most delighted when the king courted me and took me as his wife."

"You wanted the crown." He was certain of that.

The former Queen of England acknowledged, "I did, but not at such a high price." A sigh followed. "My mother, Margery, still lives at Wulfhall together with my brother, Thomas, who was expelled from court, but she refuses to ever see me again after my annulment."

Henry Percy pitied Jane while also blaming her for some of Anne Boleyn's afflictions. "I'm sorry for your woes, Madame, in particular for the deaths of your sons. However, you brought them upon yourself because of your initial participation in your family's games. Now you have firsthand experience of being the king's wife and understand what Anne must have felt when you flaunted yourself in front of our sovereign, ignoring the fact that Anne was pregnant."

Her eyes glittered. "I was naïve to believe that Anne was guilty. Now I don't think so."

If only I had known about Anne's innocence beforehand, Jane lamented as she exhaled the chilly air. Yet, I believed that she was guilty of multiple adulteries! They all told me so! I would never have married His Majesty stepping over rivers of the innocent blood of those executed men. Jane had first suspected the truth after her brother Edward's words that regardless of what Anne had done or not, she would have been disposed of, if she had not birthed the monarch's son.

When she had married King Henry, Jane had been confident of her mission to bear a Tudor prince and by doing so, to rescue England from a series of internecine civil wars for the throne in the future. Nonetheless, the Almighty had not blessed her union with the ruler not only with a son, but also with a baby girl. Moreover, Jane had lost her second child in the fashion similar to Anne's incident after the former Queen of England had walked in on Henry kissing Jane.

Since then, Jane felt guilty for things she had done in the past, and perhaps if Anne had still lived in England, she would have apologized. However, Anne was now the Queen of France, and Jane had no contact with her former rival. Moreover, these days a sense of uncertainty regarding her own marriage to Percy clawed at her insides, making Jane feel too raw and vulnerable.

Shame colored Percy's cheeks. "I've always known about Anne's innocence. Yet, I voted her guilty during the trial out of fear that I could have been executed alongside with her alleged lovers. Then I fainted because the stress and guilt of what I did to survive took the best of me."

She smiled at the admission. "I am not the only one who sinned against Anne, then."

Percy's eyes were doleful. "I'll never forgive myself for that."

A chill skittered along her spine. "Will it be a marriage of enemies or friends?"

"I know not, but I want us to get to know each other better."

"What for? You must still be obsessed by your former sweetheart."

The earl swallowed convulsively. "I shall not speak of Anne with you again."

"How will we cope?" Jane craved to hear reassurances of their bright future from him.

Leaving the words hanging in the air, Henry Percy stomped off down the path they had taken to come to the alley. Jane Seymour followed him, pondering over her unfortunate fate.

§§§

In the late afternoon, Lady Maria de Salinas requested an audience with the king. He was not inclined to see her, but he relented because she was the mother of his mistress – Catherine Brandon, Duchess of Suffolk. Two days ago, Catherine had departed to the Suffolk estates without notifying the ruler before Henry noticed her absence at court. Henry accepted Maria in his private chambers, where walls were draped in Flemish tapestries depicting the history of Hercules.

"Lady de Salinas." The monarch rose from his armchair.

She stopped in the middle and bobbed a curtsey. "I must speak to Your Majesty urgently."

He sauntered over to her. "Such an unexpected visit!"

The blazing fire in Maria's hazel eyes belied the outward calmness of her once attractive face lined with age. A woman of average height and slim build, she wore an ornately decorated, brown and black brocade gown, tightly pulled at her waist by a golden silk sash. Her long and somewhat grizzled tresses were arranged in a simple bun beneath her plain Spanish hood.

The teenaged Prince Harry had first met Maria in 1501 when she had arrived in England with Catherine of Aragon's retinue. Having been Catherine's close friend, Maria had served her with devotion before and after her wedding to Sir William Willoughby, Baron Willoughby de Eresby, in 1516. In 1536, Catherine had passed away at Kimbolton Castle in her friend's arms.

"My daughter!" Maria asked in indignation, "Why did you make her your slut?"

"Watch your tongue, Madame," he cautioned. "You are talking to your sovereign."

She bit back a growl. "My daughter is your best friend's wife. You broke Queen Catherine's life, but I shall not let you deprive my Cathy of her happiness. She loves His Grace of Suffolk!"

"You dare speak of that Spanish woman!" Henry started pacing, angered by the mention of his first consort. "Catherine of Aragon was a wanton and a liar! I know that she was not a virgin when I married her. She said falsehood to everyone." Halting near the desk, he shook his fist at her. "You, Madame, swore on the sacrament that she was a maid, but you lied."

Maria lowered her eyes as fingers of fear brushed her skin like a vulture's wing. A patch of silence swirled around her as the threat of unmasking flowed towards Maria.

"You tainted yourself with these lies. In purgatory, your soul will be burned to cinders."

She had dreaded this decisive moment for years, but she would not betray Catherine. "These things are products of your imagination, sire. The harlot's spell over you is still strong."

Repugnance warped his countenance. "You are lying! I was inexperienced in amours back then. Over time, I realized that she played me for a fool on our wedding night."

She winced. "What of my daughter?"

With exasperation, the monarch ground out, "Our relationship is mutually consensual. It has been kept secret from my courtiers and her husband. Everything else is none of your business."

Maria's shoulders sagged under the weight of her disgust towards the ruler. "Modesty and unselfishness! These virtues are praised by men who nevertheless neglect them."

He retorted, "The imperfections of man and woman, along with their frailties and faults, are just as important as their virtues. They cannot be separated – they are wedded."

"Infanta Catherine of Aragon married you after the papal dispensation had been granted."

Henry changed the topic. "Your daughter left without my permission. I dispatched two pages to her, but she did not send me any letter. Contact her so that she comes back to court."

She shook her head. "My Cathy will be with her husband. Let them be together!"

"Get out!" roared the monarch. "Out, you old Spanish harpy!"

Maria dropped a shallow curtsey and scurried out of the chamber.

In an outburst of rage, Henry slammed his fist into the wall. The rage left him because blood splattered against it as he had injured his hand. "Damn all women!"

His life, which had once been a voyage to glory, now seemed to be caricatured on the canvas of England's history. At this moment, Henry hated all women, in particular his spouses, thanks to whom his marriages had been steeped in many betrayals. For chroniclers, it would be fascinating to write about his reign, but the king was certain that all future generations would sympathize with his matrimonial woes, which had beset him because of Eve's poison in his wives' blood.

Hello everyone! I hope you are all safe and as cheerful as you can be in these difficult days. I'm sorry for the delay in updating the story, but I've been overloaded and depressed as well.

It is not news that Thomas Cromwell's fate was sealed. As I said before, I admire Cromwell's talents and consider him a highly capable statesman and politician. I wanted Cromwell to meet with Gregory one last time because I like Gregory and out of my respect to Thomas. I remember the old poll where most readers answered that it would be better for Gregory to live in obscurity after Cromwell's downfall, so I listened to you – Gregory will live in the countryside. Elizabeth Cromwell, née Seymour, and Gregory are in love and will be happy together.

As for Thomas Cromwell's death, I didn't want his death to be as bloody as it was in history. I also strove to make it unusual, and then I remembered how Cardinal Wolsey died in the show. I am not sure that this twist with Cromwell's suicide is plausible because the group of people with whom I discussed this plotline was divided 50/50% between those who didn't like it and those who approved of it. Eventually, I decided to have Cromwell commit suicide, and I am sure that not all of you approve of my choice, but I still hope that you liked Cromwell-centric scenes.

Thomas Cromwell's letter will be important to have Anne Boleyn's name cleared. It is Cromwell's last confession, and now Henry read it. Of course, Henry will struggle with the idea of Anne's innocence, but eventually, he will realize that Anne never betrayed him. Nicholas Carew is dead, and soon Anne's other enemies will be executed. The Duke of Suffolk was released, much thanks to his wife's request to the king, but Charles Brandon did not come to Winchester to meet with Henry and retired to his estates with his wife.

Henry Percy, Earl of Northumberland, and Jane Seymour will be married after the court's mourning is over. I hope you like this short interaction in this chapter. Jane's mindset changed and is still changing, and now she feels guilty for certain things she did to Anne. Anne and Jane will not meet anytime soon, but in the end they will meet in years to come. Jane's marriage to Percy will be a difficult one, mostly because he is still in love with Anne Boleyn.

We will be back to France in chapter 36. The Italian campaigns will happen soon.

VioletRoseLily and I began co-writing the story called "Entwined by a Golden Alliance", but we are posting it only at AO3. Give it a try, please, and thank you in advance!

I recommend VioletRoseLily, Countess of Sherwood, EvilFluffyBiteyThing, FieryMaze at AO3, as well as Secret-writer91, BellalunaMcKenzie, QueenMaryofEngland, and WhiteRoseQueen at fanfiction. Let's make each other smile! Let's review and favorite each other!

Yours sincerely,

Athénaïs Penelope Clemence