Her Highness, the Traitor by Susan Higginbotham Page A

ended. As the days wore on, John received a letter from the Protector himself, begging him to remember their old friendship, and I received a letter from the Duchess of Somerset, begging me to use what influence I had with my husband. But there was nothing John could do other than to assure Somerset he did not seek his blood, and nothing I could do other than to send a similar message to the duchess. Meanwhile, the men at Windsor were rapidly deserting Somerset’s cause, and on October 11, he was arrested without putting up any resistance.
    Three days later, Somerset was escorted to London as a prisoner. John did not watch him enter the city, half because he felt it unseemly, half because he could not bear to see his old friend brought low. I was of a baser nature, though, and of a more curious one, so I went. I have been repaid threefold for my idle gawking that day.
    The council had taken care not to humiliate the duke—no longer Protector, for that position had been abolished the day before. Somerset wore fine clothes and was mounted on a good horse, and the only thing that marked him as a prisoner was the armed guard of three hundred men that ringed him. He gazed at the men surrounding him reprovingly yet sadly, as if they were well-loved children caught in a bad act. Only when a group of poor people cheered did his austere features soften into a smile.
    Not far from me, a plainly dressed woman stifled a sob as the duke passed by. I stared at her, and stared at her even harder when, the duke having ridden past us, she began weeping openly. The Duchess of Somerset might have stripped off her jewels and hidden her carefully tended face and figure underneath someone else’s drab clothes, but she could not conceal the love she plainly bore for the prisoner heading off toward an uncertain future.
    I moved to her and touched her on the shoulder. She gasped then turned a ravaged face to me. “You are enjoying this, Lady Warwick?”
    “No. I am very sorry for all this.”
    The duchess stared after her husband. “He thinks I am at my brother’s house in Beddington. I promised him I would not come to see him brought to London as a prisoner if it came to that. I little thought that it would. But it may be the last I ever see of him alive.”
    “I told you, Anne, my husband does not seek his life.”
    “He cannot bear to be in the Tower long. He will be miserable and cold there. His health will suffer.”
    “I have it on good authority that the council is arranging for him to be comfortably housed there. He will be treated as his rank deserves. You have nothing to fear.”
    “I miss him.”
    I had no response to that. Instead, I said, “I will do everything in my power to see him freed.”
    “And restored to his protectorship?”
    I had to smile at the duchess’s presumption even in the face of disaster. “That I cannot promise. But I will try my best to have him restored to you and your children.”
    “I thank you,” Anne said. For the first time I could recall in our long acquaintanceship, her expression was a humble one. She looked back toward her husband, but his figure had long disappeared from view. “And can his favorite cook be with him in the Tower? My husband is very particular in his eating habits.”
    ***
    “I have made a promise today, John.”
    “Oh?”
    “To the Duchess of Somerset.”
    John groaned eloquently.
    “I promised her that I would use my influence to see her husband released from the Tower.”
    “Released from the Tower? He’s not even there yet; his quarters won’t be ready until tomorrow. I’ll say one thing for you women—you don’t waste time.”
    “I couldn’t bear it, John. She had gone to watch Somerset being brought into the city, and she was weeping. I felt pity for her.” I put my arms around John in the bed we were sharing. I could feel the bones in his back more easily than I could a couple of months ago; he’d been hardly eating, and some days could scarcely keep