actions and I have news of one near to you who is a traitor and I believed that I had something to say to you which could not be trusted to paper.”
“I see,” said the King. “Go on.”
“I would remind you, Sire, of your promise to me.”
“Yes, yes, a free pardon. It is yours.”
“And five hundred pounds for my services.”
“It shall be yours. Tell me of this traitor.”
“I fear you will be inclined to disbelieve me for it concerns one very close to you . . . even related.”
The King tapped his fingers impatiently, but still Sir Robert hesitated, whether to give his revelation more momentum or whether he feared the King’s wrath over what he was about to reveal, Henry was not sure.
“Come, come, Clifford. Speak up.”
“My lord, Sir William Stanley is in league with Perkin Warbeck.”
“Stanley! Impossible.”
“I feared you would feel so, my lord. But it is the truth. I have evidence. Letters in his handwriting. He is ready to offer his help to the impostor when he lands in England.”
Henry was silent. He would not believe it. Not William Stanley . . . brother of his father-in-law! Heaven preserve him, how deep had this thing gone! He had scarcely had a night’s sound sleep since he had heard the name of Perkin Warbeck.
“Allow me, Sire,” said Clifford. “I can give you irrefutable evidence and knowing that you would find it difficult to believe in this man’s perfidy I have brought you that evidence.”
The King held out his hand.
He stared down at the paper. Stanley’s writing. Stanley’s treason! There could be no doubt of it.
He felt sick with disgust and anger. Had he not seen it with his own eyes he would never have believed it. Stanley! What would his mother say? What would his stepfather say? This was terrible. This was treachery of the worst kind.
“My lord, you believe me now?”
“I believe you, Sir Robert. You have done good work. It is a pity that you were ready to betray me in the beginning.”
“A mistake, Sire, for which I crave the pardon which you have already granted me. I realized my mistake and I wished to rectify my errors . . . which I am sure with your love of truth and justice you will readily agree that I have done.”
For five hundred pounds and a free pardon! How uneasy is he who is a king! Must it always be so? Must those whom he most trusts betray him?
“You have done well,” he said. “You shall be paid your five hundred pounds. Leave these papers with me . . . You may go to my treasurer and take an order from me for your five hundred pounds, which shall be paid to you at once. Then you may go.”
“Thank you, my lord. It has been my pleasure to serve you.”
“Go now,” said the King coldly.
He sat silent for a few seconds. Somewhere in this very palace Sir William Stanley would be preparing for the evening’s entertainment, little guessing that his perfidy was revealed. Henry was glad that he had come to the Tower. Stanley could be taken to his cell without undue fuss.
He sent for the guards.
“Arrest Sir William Stanley,” he said, “and have him conducted to a dungeon. Make sure that he is well guarded.”
The men-at-arms were astounded. They hesitated, wondering if they had heard correctly.
The King said, and his voice was very cold: “Those are my orders. Sir William Stanley is to be conducted without delay to a dungeon. He is under close arrest.”
The men bowed and went out. Henry sat for a few moments staring into space, his face creased into lines of desperate unhappiness.
The King signed to the jailer to open the door of the cell. He went in. Stanley turned sharply and let out a cry when he saw who his visitor was. He went onto his knees and tried to take the King’s hand.
“My lord . . . Sire . . . I do not understand.”
“Get up, Stanley,” said the King. “Alas, I understand all too well.”
“My lord, I pray you tell me of what I am accused.”
“Of treachery, Stanley.”
“Treachery? I . . . Your faithful servant . . .”
“My unfaithful servant, alas. Have done with pretense. I know that you have been in correspondence with the impostor Perkin Warbeck. I have seen your letters. . . .”
Stanley’s shocked silence would have proclaimed his guilt if that had been necessary. It certainly was not. Henry had no doubt of it. It had been made quite clear to him.
