Anne Boleyn And The Death Of The Tudors

Norfolk

Cromwell

"Explain yourself man, you have gone mad!"  The King towers over the man weeping at his feet, all six foot two inches of him as tightly wound as I have ever seen him.  The man kneeling before him is none other than the great Thomas Howard, Duke of Norfolk.  The usually poised, meticulously coiffed and infuriatingly smug Duke is now soaked to the skin, smeared in dirt and bleeding, barely able to form words.  His dishevelled appearance has discomfited the King, he is unsure how to approach this trembling chaotic mess in front of him. 

I came across this shocking scene in the Great Hall a moment ago, following my unpleasant experience below ground. Before making my way up the stairs from that disturbing room, I had barked orders to investigate Bray's very out-of-character and thoroughly ludicrous claims. I believe he must have been caught up in the panic of the crowd at the appearance of obviously ill-afflicted individuals. Hysterics and sudden violence can take fire so easily in a crowd and sweep through with unnatural haste.

I had expected that the King would be gone from the Palace by now, on his way out of the city, be it by water or on horseback. Instead, he was still preparing, his body servants flitting about him, carrying hastily gathered personal necessities for the maintenance of the King's Majesty. They are disconcerted as his momentum has been interrupted.  I see Butts standing too near the King, looking for all the world like he is considering grasping the King's arm to pull him away from the dishevelled man in front of him.  His fingers are twitching as he begins to reach for his royal charge, but he pulls his arms back smartly, trying not to betray his panic.  His eyes meet mine in desperate entreaty, his first and only duty is to protect the King's health.  He fears contagion.

My eyes move back to the quivering form of the Duke. Strangely he appears to be alone, without his usual retinue of simpering fools.  This man is a snake.  He would not hesitate to bring down his closest friend, or indeed his own niece as he has proven, to further his own cause.  He is a vile example of the ambition and greed the drives the nobility of England. His ever-present arrogance is missing now, however. Norfolk is gulping down air and his eyes are bulging, he appears on the verge of apoplexy. He is not a young man and he is obviously over-excited. 

Norfolk begins to speak, his voice halting.  "Mmm-my King! I cannot believe what I have seen!  Demons in the form of men and women, possessed by some unholy rage.  At the beginning, I believed the noise was supporters of....of her."  Norfolk stumbles over his words, unsure how to address his disgraced niece.  I see the King's eyes narrow.  "But then I saw them." His voice grows louder and he looks up at the King with some spark of his usual confident demeanour.  "They tore into the crowd with their hands and.. and teeth. I have never seen such a thing, not even in war.  There was so much blood."  I see then the bronze marks staining his clothes. This is sounding disturbingly familiar. 

"The tower guards fought back, but swords did not stop them. I saw a crazed woman run past with a grievous wound to the neck, not even slowing.  Then...I sought safety  under the scaffold."  He flushes slightly. "When I saw Suffolk fall, I.."  The King makes an involuntary noise then goes deathly still.  "Suffolk?"  His Majesty's voice is gruff and disbelieving.  "Yes, Your Majesty, I'm sorry.  He was taken down by a group of them as he tried to get out.  He put up a goodly fight..."  He trails off, looking up at the King in alarm.  "How did you escape?" The King asks in a strained voice, his face drained of colour. "Once they moved past us, one of my knights, James Cobham, got me to the Gate and found me a horse. Cobham was taken down as we were leaving, the beast came out of nowhere.  He was so fast.  I had no choice but to flee!"

The King nods slightly, then asks quietly and steadily, "what of her?" Norfolk gulps and looks around in panic, as if one of us can save him from delivering his unwelcome news.  "I saw her before the French Swordsman struck, but then the noise began and I saw her no more.  When I was under the scaffold, I did not see her or her body, but then there were so many bodies." I release the breath I had not known I was holding.  Now I share some measure of Norfolk's panic.  If she is alive, I may not be for very much longer.  I step forward boldly, I must be of use to the King now. 

"Forgive me, your Majesty, but I fear time is our enemy here." The King turns to face me as I step out of the doorway.  His face is ashen, pain and shock written upon his face.  I have no reason to regret Suffolk's death, yet he was the King's closest friend, his partner in so many adventures of his youth. Suffolk gained a Dukedom on the back of his ability to drunkenly carouse and be agreeable to the King, as well as finding his way into Princess Mary's bed. He adds nothing to this country or the Government, so his absence will perhaps make life easier for the rest of us on the Council, if anything. The King, however, he will take the loss hard, Suffolk was like the other side of his coin. Or is it the news about Anne, or lack thereof, that has shaken him so?

"I have also heard an account of the deranged people of Norfolk's story, however they are no devils. I can assure you, Your Majesty, that there will be a logical explanation.  There is evidence of an outbreak of the Sweat in the city, as Doctor Butts has informed you. I believe there is some relationship between this outbreak and the madness at the Tower. Perhaps a more virulent strain that affects the mind. We must get you away from here Highness, see you safe, and then we can resolve these other, ah, matters."  My interruption breaks his silence.  "Yes, I need to be away from here." His eyes are shadowed and his voice is flat.

The King puts his pomander to his nose as if he can smell the stink of invisible  illness around him. He speaks more decisively now. "Norfolk, you must clean the blood and filth off you man, and drink one of the good Doctor's concoctions. It will help protect you from the pestilence while you organise the guard and, if necessary, muster an army of Londoners to put down this revolt." "Your Majesty, I can not! You do not understand Sire, they are devils in mortal form!"  The King speaks coldly, "I understand perfectly Thomas, you are a craven and prefer to hide while others fight and die.  Perhaps you will end up on top of that scaffold if you do not do as you are bid!" The King's eyes slide to me. "Cromwell, I charge you to secure evidence of her death." In other words, if she is not already dead , see it done.

The King begins to stride away, his guards and attendants moving quickly after him like a wave.  I share a brief look with Butts, he nods and then follows the King, hurrying to maintain pace.  He knows his role and I know mine.  Butts will ensure the King's safety. I will do his dirty work.

Norfolk stands suddenly in a panic. Abandoning protocol, he calls after the King, "Sire, I must tell you one last thing! The Duke of Richmond, your son, he was at the execution. I do not know his fate!" The King freezes at the great wooden doors and spins slowly to face the Duke, his face thunderous. The Duke wilts back to his knees beneath the King's glare. The King keeps his eyes on Norfolk as he says softly, "Find him Cromwell, and bring him to me."  I bow, deeper than usual, and the King disappears through the doors into the wan evening light.

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