Of Pride and Power - 15. Chapter 15: “Conceal your intentions.”

On the following day, I visited the Tower of London before Edward had a chance to send his letter releasing Princess Mary. The Tower of London was not the monolithic black tower that modern people imagined from fantasy movies, I learned from both my ability as well as visual analysis that it was a complex of smaller buildings with one gray-stone tower at the center, named the White Tower. The White Tower was built by William the Conqueror in the 11^th century, shortly after his conquest of England along with the buildings within the complex as one of a Royal residence and a stronghold for his family. In practice, the Tower of London complex was more akin to a Royal warehouse by this point in history, such as the fact that Edward VI would keep many of his prized armor and arms, including the best steel swords, jewel-embedded firearms, and shining cannons within the White Tower.

Remembering Barnaby had warned Puck about Edward’s peculiar interests, I chuckled a little at the idea that Edward might be into a bit of cosplay with his lover. I came to that conclusion with what I inventoried in Edward’s private collections, along with the fact that the royal fashion of having big codpieces persisted even after Henry VIII’s death. A boy, who must hide who he was from the world, who enjoyed making others pretend to be what they are not to others. His little act of rebellion was the best satire. He escaped the notice of powerful men with bigger concerns for power and influence around him, subverting them as they had subverted him to their commands. If I had a little brother when I was Eric, I could see Edward being him. It made what I was about to do so much harder.

I entered the Tower of London complex through the eastern gatehouse located in Byward Tower with the authorization given that William Paulet had sent me by messenger that morning. I brought with me a decent coin purse to pay off certain gatekeepers, along with simple luxuries like fresh bread, cheese, dry meat, and fresh spring water. Reaching Beauchamp Tower, the housing place of royal prisoners, I walked around the outside of the structure before entering. I knew that I would invariably be brought to this place when Mary became Queen. Even if I gained some iota of goodwill with Mary from what I do today, her advisors knew I would be better off dead or permanently locked here. In history no one ever has successfully escaped Beauchamp Tower, Elizabeth was only lucky enough to be released by the goodwill of her sister.

Entering Beauchamp Tower, I crossed through several thick wooden doors with iron bolts that were added as extra locks. At the end of my journey, I saw Princess Mary again, along with several female servants, who gave me a nod, rather than a bow that was owed to a member of the royal family. I had expected as much, since in the eyes of her most trusted supporters and advisers, I was a bastard and potentially non-human. However, Mary did give me the courtesy of a simple bow, which spoke volumes about her current state.

Upon closer appraisal, Princess Mary appeared dour with her red hair losing its shine from my first impression of her. Her round face was still there, but she had lost the rosy shade that matched her hair. Her clothing, while stylish in comparison to many noble ladies, had lost many of its finer adornments of colorful stones and golden thread. Based on initial sight, she looked unhappy with the current state of affairs.

I spoke first, “Princess Mary, my sister, I came to offer you comfort and care as you did for me when I was a mere babe. I brought bread, cheese, meat, and fresh water.”

Without even considering my overtures of goodwill, Mary asked me, “How are you doing little Eli? I’ve heard rumors that you had engaged Robert Kett’s rebel army near Norwich with the Duke of Northumberland. I see you are well and in good spirits, so I expect Robert Kett’s army was completely defeated.”

Her reaction was unexpectedly direct, but I nodded and offered an account of the battle, “Yes, my beloved sister, it is so. John Dudley, the Duke of Northumberland, with his royal force of 14,000 men defeated the rebel army of 16,000. However, I was not part of the battle as the group I brought with me from the western lands were healers, who administered aid to the city of Norwich. From what I heard, Robert Kett had abandoned the city of Norwich and his previous stronghold upon Mousehold Heath, to engage with the duke’s royal army directly.”

Mary scowled at my description of the events, “Thank you for offering me details on the battle, it must have been dreadful to see so much pain and death. By chance did you hear news of a priest from the true religion named Father Archibald? He was sent to minister at a nearby abbey near Norwich. He is a cousin of my old friend Bishop Andrews, who was brutally taken away from our world recently.”

I shook my head, remembering the story that William Parr and I created in case someone ever asked about the Catholic agent, “While healing the injured on the battlefield, some of my healers discovered the body of a priest with documents indicating he was of the Roman church. They presumed he was ministering to the rebels when a cannon shell filled with powder from the royal army exploded. The body is still in Norwich, but the Duke of Northumberland had all the rebels and their sympathizers executed as he did not believe rebels deserved proper treatment as good Christians for fighting the King’s will. I do not know if there is anyone alive who can verify his identity. Perhaps, one of Bishop Andrews’ acquaintances may help.”

Her anger burst out as she ranted, “May God damn John Dudley for his wickedness. He deserves to be drawn and quartered for what he did. Without evidence or warning, his men stormed into my residence, captured Bishop Andrews, and hung him by a tree, like a common thief. Then, his men forcefully imprisoned me here for my protection from evil conspirators. Do you think the duke’s character is not worthy of perdition?”

I answered cautiously, “I am not a soldier, my sister, I do not know what is or is not proper in the conduct of war. I only went to Norwich to see my old friend Robert Dudley, whose wife was made an invalid by the rebels.”

A grimace formed on Mary’s face at the mention of my reason to be near Norwich, “My innocent Eli, you are so much like our brother, Edward. Can you speak on my behalf and assuage his fears about my part in this rebel campaign?”

“Of course, I shall, my sister, you are innocent,” I replied without hesitation, trying to embellish my naivete about the situation or the indictment that I had seeded in John Dudley regarding her role in arming Robert Kett’s rebels.

She went to her desk and offered me a journal addressed to the Chancellor at the University of Cambridge, Stephen Gardiner. In my history, he was Queen Mary’s right-hand man. In my original history, some people claimed that he was the architect of the Marian regime’s future campaigns, leading to the persecution, prosecution, and public executions of Protestants as the infamous Bishop of Winchester.

“Eli, please escort my servant Frances Howard, so she may deliver these writings to Mr. Gardiner, it contains an account of all I have suffered and all that has happened to me. My struggle against the tyranny of the duke and his belligerent allies,” Mary offered me.

With my ability, I knew exactly what kind of book Mary wrote. In the future, many people would call these manifestos or political treatises, usually those with a motivation to rebel against the current government or leadership. In it, she blamed John Dudley and a cabal of Protestant reformers for her current condition. She claimed they were in league with Satan, and they had perverted the mind of King Edward VI, trying to weaken the kingdom for the minions of hell to take power. It was page after page of attacks against wealthy protestant nobles, aimed to appeal to their poor servants and serfs. Mary claimed that the church and its visionary leader, Pope Peter, Guillamo Medici, would bring salvation if all accepted the true faith. Beyond the insane rhetoric, the treasonous commentary, and the homophobic attacks against Edward, the words in this book were powerful. Lord Ashley was right; Mary had a gift for gathering people and gaining influence through sheer personal will.

For years afterward, I’ve regretted my choices that day. No one except my closest loved ones knew what I did, but they never blamed me for helping Mary deliver that book to Stephen Gardiner, allowing that provocateur to publish such incendiary ideas, and indirectly harming so many people. I have always believed in the freedom of ideas and freedom of expression, but the existential cost of such freedoms on human lives may be too great. I learned there are real human limits to interactions, some ideas, even if they are popular cannot be allowed to spread. Yet, I realized that only later.

In a sign of good faith toward Mary, I left the Tower of London and escorted Frances Howard with me, who carried the secret writings of Princess Mary. In a way, I knew this move was calculated based on future knowledge. Some historians claimed that Frances Howard was Elizabeth’s secret lesbian lover due to their exchanges of gifts and close interactions. However, strangely, she was supposed to be born in 1573, but based on my ability to analyze people and objects, I can tell she was 12 years old, so she was born in 1538 in this alternate timeline.

Glancing at Frances Howard, a 5’7 mousy 12-year-old with short dirty blond hair, rose-colored cheeks, and a simple gray dress, I could imagine her beauty growing along with several inches in height, muscle mass, and a shorter haircut that would be aligned with my tastes. An aspect of my ability allowed me to perceive her potential development, I was surprised at how stunningly similar she looked to the fictional Brienne of Tarth from the Game of Thrones show, a masculine beauty with female sensibilities.

Despite my future knowledge, she was too young at this time to carry my or Jack’s interest as 17-year-olds and we both rejected the notion of grooming young lovers. Of course, if Elizabeth did take Frances Howard as her female lover with a 40-year age gap, the same reluctance to groom a child probably did not exist in history. Modern sensibilities about natural childhood sexual development ran the gamut, but Jack and I grew into our relationship from individual unguided exploration. We gained access to material, but it was our choice rather than anyone else on what we liked and what we didn’t.

While my and Jack’s romantic interests were aligned more with boys than girls, the sexual idea of a female body doesn’t repulse me, and Jack was not against female body parts. However, Jack and I jointly rejected introducing a girl into our relationship, despite the interest from a few straight girls, including a cheerleader, who seemed to find the idea of being with us interesting. Beyond the lack of appeal from most girls, one of the issues with those girls’ requests, they wanted to be pleasured by Jack and me without sharing or giving back to us. Our relationship was driven by a willingness to share, so selfishness was not acceptable. Maybe bisexual girls were different than straight girls, but we never found any girls like that in our area. Eventually, Frances Howard would be the first girl who fully embraced cooperative relationships without compromising Jack, Francis, or my roles.

After we left the Tower, I asked Frances Howard politely, “Do you want to eat something, Lady Howard? I notice that none of the servants ate any of the fresh bread, cheeses, or meat that I brought.”

She fidgeted and responded, “Lord Eli, I would never dare. Those were for Princess Mary, my lord Eli. Her ladies-in-waiting and servants may only dine on stale bread and soup if they stay with her in the Tower. Everything else that is given, Princess Mary will reward if you please her.”

Seeing her bony body, I knew she hadn’t eaten much at all, since she started serving Mary. The Howard family were powerful and influential nobles in England during this period. It was natural that one of their daughters would serve as a lady-in-waiting to a princess like Mary. However, Frances being merely a servant and treated so badly made less sense among noble girls of equal rank. Usually, they would have food and better clothing; even if it meant she would have to ask her family for support.

“Surely, your family supports you with aid during these trying times?” I asked, trying to learn more about this young girl.

She shook her head in response as we passed the Byward Tower gate and I handed a sizable handful of silver coins to the guards, who made a curt bow and leer at the little shabbily dressed young girl next to me. We walked through the city of London, which was buzzing with activity and various smells as we headed back to my room at Whitehall to leave a message for Puck and depart the city for the University of Cambridge.

After a long period of silence, Frances Howard told me in a whisper, “Lord Eli, my father is Thomas Howard. He is also imprisoned in the Tower due to his allegiances and my family has no means to care for me.”

With that piece of information, various things began to make sense. Thomas Howard was an important military leader under King Henry VIII, but he had fallen out of favor in 1546 when Edward’s regency began under the Seymore family. He was also imprisoned in the Tower of London complex, so Frances would be doubly damned. In my history, her father was Charles Howard, from another branch of the powerful Howard family.

I nodded in response and placed an arm on her shoulder, “Do you want me to call you Cousin Frances and you can call me Cousin Eli without the honorifics? We are related by my mother’s blood.”

She moved further away from me, timidly responding, “Lord Eli, I would never dare impose or claim relations with someone of your rank. You are currently a Duke, and I am merely a former lady with no family name and soon no master. Princess Mary said that upon the completion of our task, I may do as I wish. It would be a curse to claim me as family.”

Seeing this scared little girl made my heartache, but I knew Princess Mary was an intelligent and cunning woman. This perfect scenario of a ward with blood ties to me, being sent on an errand alongside me, and needing my help desperately. It was contrived; it could have come from any dollar-store romance novel. Frances was a honey pot scam.

I knew Frances was sent here to spy on me and worked for Mary in the background. She had many intentions in giving her book to me from testing my willingness to aid her to inserting a spy for her within my household. However, I noticed that Frances was skittish when it came to physical contact with me. I did not want to know what made the touch of someone frightening to a little girl, but I can imagine horrible things. Despite not being fully male, I did have several male attributes and had seen enough reruns of Law and Order: Special Victims to not push.

I sighed and made up my mind, “After our errand for my sister, Princess Mary, you can join me and my valet on our journey back to my lands.”

She stared at me with wide tear-filled eyes, “Lord Eli, it’s too generous.”

Before we reached Whitehall, I made a detour to enter another royal residence, St. James Palace, when I heard music. It was light and balanced with an orchestral choir and a Christmas tune. I had forgotten that Christmas was merely two weeks away after all the excitement from the previous weeks.

Memories of my Christmas with Jack flooded my mind. Going to the mall for cinnamon rolls and bhocolate chip cookies with sugary sprinkles was our Christmas tradition, we would people-watch in the food court making up elaborate Christmas stories about cute boys, who gathered together. Like the jocks, who drank smoothies with vitamin enhancements and TB12 avocado extract, Jack and I would create a story like what would happen to them if they were all stuck in a cabin during a freak snowstorm over Christmas. The idea of sharing body heat and dog piles floated around more than once during those stories, along with an elaborate decorated human tree with tons of ribbon and glued-on stars. Of course, our favorites were the emo boys, who looked above the fray hiding in their dark corners and staring at themselves in little compact mirrors they think no one notices. There’s a tenderness and fear between the mascara and eyeliner, something that resonated with us. From dark Christmas elf stories to campy drag romantic comedies, those guys offered a lot of great inspiration for our Christmas-themed imaginations. Jack and I didn’t have much to enjoy with how our relationship existed, but our moments of shared joy and imagination made us richer than a lot of other people who gave their boyfriends and girlfriends big flashy gifts like iPhone cases or small Gucci purses that can barely fit your pinky toe. With those thoughts and emotions hitting me, I missed Jack, I wanted to be with Robert as Jack’s current manifestation in this era.

Entering what I knew from my knowledge of St. James Palace was the Friary Court, which housed the future Chapel Royal, the royal church used for services and musical performances. Currently, the honor of being Chapel Royal was given to the adjourning chapel at Whitehall Palace, which will be destroyed in 1702 in my history. The chapel at St. James Palace was built in 1540 as a normal chapel of St. James Palace when there were royals in residence. Most musical performances would be performed in Whitehall as a result, so I was surprised to hear music from here.

A man was conducting a choir of raggedly dressed men and boys, who sang a Christmas choir song that I knew was “Videte Miraculum” even without tapping into my ability. My parents had gathered choral groups from outside the state to perform various music during Christmas, it raised a lot of money and paid off most of my mother’s gambling debts for that year. However, I did not remember the name of its composer until I encountered the conductor.

In the middle of the choral arrangement, the man paused and turned to face us. He had brown hair, an average build, and was mid-40s. He made a bow to me and pointed to some seats near the front for us to sit, then began to conduct his choir again. We sat there, listening to several classic choral Christmas songs, spoken in Latin as was the common language of the Catholic Church until later for services and music, but he included newer compositions sung in English, which was a change that Protestants brought in. However, on the final song, I was shocked to hear one choral hymn that I knew was out of place in a 16^th-century collection of Christmas songs.

The conductor smirked at me, then ordered his choir to sing, “Hymn for Christmas Day”.

The words were slightly different than the modern track I knew, but the melody was familiar as the first part of the song began.

“HARK! the Herald Angels sing.

Glory to the new-born King!

Peace on Earth, and Mercy mild,

God and Sinners reconciled.

Joyful all ye Nations rise,

Join the Triumphs of the Skies.

Nature rises and worships him,

Who is born at Bethlehem.”

After the completion of the musical rehearsal, I wanted to meet the conductor. The song that he organized was the famous “Hark! The Heralds Angels Sing”, which had the generic name “Christmas Hymn” with its creation in 1739 by Charles Wesley. The version sung was the 1758 adaptation that George Whitefield would have adapted. Musical compositions may seem like a minor historical footnote, but it takes centuries of evolution and development over various periods to create memorable modern-day Christmas carols. Whoever wrote the song was no ordinary person.

When I approached the conductor, he gave me a curtsey bow before introducing himself.

“Duke Eli, I am grateful that you have come here to listen to our humble Christmas arrangements of music. My name is Thomas Tallis, I am a servant of the Chapel Royal.”

With my ability, I began to learn about this man. Thomas Tallis was one of the greatest English composers of the 16^th century; he was considered one of the Northern Renaissance’s music innovators. The information about his personal life and views was scarce though. He was married to a woman but had no children in my history. However, I can tell he wasn’t infertile based on my ability to analyze his body. There’s no such thing as gaydar with my ability, but the adoring look of several men in the choir made it quite easy to jump to certain conclusions.

I returned a greeting to Thomas Tallis, “Mr. Tallis, thank you for allowing me to enjoy your wonderful songs and arrangement. May I ask, what inspired your last hymn as its composition was magnificent?”

Thomas Tallis smiled and replied, “The last shall be the first,” he paused momentarily, and I nodded recognizing him as a member of the fair folk Coven, “I merely saved my newest song toward the end. I had not expected that you would enjoy my work, would you be interested in discussing it over a bowl of stew and bread with me and my group?”

I nodded without hesitation, but Frances Howard was aghast at the suggestion, “Lord Eli, Mr. Tallis, and his group are of a lower station than you, why would you break bread with them?”

It was an obvious issue with the dining etiquette of the era, but I had overlooked it after discovering that I had a musical specialist in the ranks of the coven. I wished Thomas was currently stationed at the main base at Cadbury Hill or Bristol Castle but could understand why the other Coven members chose for him to work in London, acting as one of the informants and agents. While music may not at first appear to be useful on the surface, it is key to boosting morale, creating culturally unique works of art, and influencing popular opinion. A master of musical knowledge is in many ways akin to a scientist since music theory has many distinct areas of organization, time, and composition.

I answered Frances coyly, “During this time of year, it is important to remember that Christ dined with everyone without regard to status or rank,” turning back to Thomas, “We would be honored to be your guests, Mr. Tallis.”

It was in the middle of the afternoon and the meal was meager by modern standards, consisting of a single large pot of stew and bread. Everyone was presented with small bowls of stew and a large fist-sized piece of bread, which was gratefully accepted. The bread and stew were very filling, but I noticed that many of the boys and men were very skinny, like Frances.

Seated next to Thomas Tallis on my right, while Frances sat with the younger boys near the end of the table, I whispered my question, “Are your singers all indigents?”

Thomas nodded sullenly and replied softly, “Yes, my lord and all of them were rejected from their homes for a particular inclination.”

I felt deeply ashamed and lost my appetite despite the rich aroma of the stew or warm bread, I handed my portion to Frances without listening to her protestations, causing several of the boys near her to snicker. I returned to my seat, while Thomas had also given up his bread and bowl of stew to a malnourished boy. We sat in silence, watching as the boys, men, and Frances ate heartily.

Realizing this was the medieval version of a gay support group, I felt awful for not knowing that Thomas existed until now despite being the nominal leader of the Coven. I was so busy working on military planning, strategic output, and covertly preparing industrialization across the western regions of England and southern Wales, but I should have recognized that this kind of activity was taking place. It made perfect sense in this alternate world. Manga always depicted strong leaders, who would use their powers to fight evil forces or make policy decisions, but few offer looks at outreach and social support systems within a nation. In history, charitable efforts existed under the auspices of religious-aligned organizations, Thomas Tallis was a notable musician for the Chapel Royal. He could run a male choir that fed and housed people dejected by society just as modern society had similar institutions in large cities.

I stared down at my mostly empty coin purse, frowning that I had wasted so much on visiting Mary, but determined to offer Thomas everything I had now. Later, I also made sure that the four taverns I had Francis and the triplets secured would continuously fund Thomas’ efforts.

After the meal, I handed him my coin purse and whispered my plan to continuously support him.

He shook his head ready to argue with me, but noticed Frances was waiting, still carrying Mary’s book nearby. He sighed and accepted my gift, then bowed as we left for Whitehall.

By the following day, I had spoken to Puck and gathered some coins. In the early morning, I left Whitehall Palace for the University of Cambridge, which was merely a ten-hour trip by horse. Peter and Francis had met us at the gate, likely messaged by Puck to be my escorts on this short journey. They intimidated Frances, but I informed her that they had no interest in women and most men. The young girl was shocked to hear that and asked if they were eunuchs like me, but both flatly denied the claim for me and them. Frances and I never met Stephen Gardiner on that occasion, but one of his servants received Mary’s book from Frances before dismissing us. It was an anti-climactic delivery and journey.

After settling that affair, we returned to London to gather our other companions and returned home with a confused and timid girl.