Shadow of Persephone

by G Lawrence

  Rhys had petitioned Cardinal Wolsey, but had been ignored, and when Rhys and Ferrers were granted permission to extend their retainers, competing gangs of men loyal to one master or the other, they had come to blows. Many people thought the appointment of Ferrers a mistake, as he had been turned down for a similar post in Ireland due to being a bumbling fool. It was thought Rhys’ connection to the ancient royalty of Wales was the true problem.

  Ferrers had arrested Rhys for disturbing the peace, but Katherine had collected hundreds of supporters including bishops and lords, and attacked Carmarthen Castle where he was held. They came in darkness, and Katherine promised to burn down the castle door if her lord was not released. Ferrers managed to persuade her not to and Rhys was released, although captured again shortly after. Katherine and her men attacked one of Ferrers’ houses in response and several men died.

  Ferrers wrote to London, saying that Rhys and Katherine were leading a rebellion. They were not, unless against Ferrers himself, but the King believed him.

  Rhys was taken to the Tower of London, as the King believed he was attempting to usurp power in Wales. It did not help that Rhys had added the title Fitz-Urien to his name. Urien was the ancient Welsh ruler of Rheged, and this, Rhys’ enemies claimed, was an attempt on Rhys’ part to become the Prince of Wales. There were rumours he had plotted with James V of Scotland, and was planning to overthrow the King.

  In the summer, when I came, Katherine was petitioning Anne Boleyn to free her husband, and many in London considered him innocent. The King, however, did not seem so sure. Rhys was accused of discussing prophecies which talked of the King’s death.

  Katherine came often with news of her work for Rhys and gossip from court. My grandmother always welcomed her, and they spent hours closeted together.

  Katherine seemed, to me, a worthy and courageous woman. I felt there were many of those in my family.

  Her petitions went unheard, however. The King would not listen, and that winter, Rhys was executed. Katherine was crushed by his death, but had to think of her family. She had three children to support. Abandoning her previous support for her husband, she threw herself on the mercy of Anne Boleyn, telling her that Rhys had acted alone, without her knowledge and had been cruel to her. It worked, and Anne toiled hard for her aunt. Katherine was left with an income of two hundred pounds per year, and custody of her children. Swiftly, Katherine made preparations to marry again, and selected Lord Daubeney, a rich widower more than twice her age. He was not handsome, nor did she love him, but the King did and that was more important than looks to a widow whose husband had died for treason, real or imagined.

  “We are not happy, not as I was with Rhys,” I heard Katherine say to my grandmother one day.

  “But you are alive, unlike Rhys,” said my grandmother. “That is what matters.”

  Chapter Four

  Chesworth House

  Winter 1531

  “Great learning is not required of women,” said my grandmother, “better to learn how to sing, dance and smile sweetly than to dull a man senseless, chattering about books.”

  It was just as well she thought this way. My grandmother had been speaking to my tutor. He was attempting to teach me the art of rhetoric; how to argue, either by tongue or on parchment with a view to persuasion. I was not talented at it.

  She was better pleased with my needle. My blackwork, embellishing the cuffs and collars of shirts, was good and my embroidery adequate. My tutor had praised my ability to learn the Ten Commandments, the Creed and prayers by heart, and I liked the fables of Aesop, so knew most of them too. I enjoyed books about the lives of female saints, and the poetry of Cato, but my handwriting was inelegant, and my numbers poor. I found numbers dull. If my mind was uninterested, it would not latch on.

  “But she is good with animals,” Joan had told my grandmother. It was true I had skill there. I liked horses and dogs, finding them kinder than people, and had a way with chickens, persuading hens to surrender eggs without pecking my fingers. And with remedies I was reasonable. But great learning was not my destiny.

  “You know your prayers, which is well for all wisdom comes from the Lord,” said Agnes. “And you can read, write a little… the numbers will need working on if you are to be of use to your husband, but too much learning makes a woman dull.”

  “My cousin talks of many learned subjects and the King does not find her dull, Your Grace,” I pointed out, receiving a light clip about the ear for impudence.

  “Who told you that?” Agnes demanded.

  “My cousin is all anyone talks of, Your Grace.”

  My grandmother chuckled, no more displeased. “Of course,” she said. “My granddaughter is the talk of London, and the world.”

  Agnes always emphasised Anne Boleyn was her granddaughter, even though she was not by blood. Not so for me. I was child, or girl. It was to be expected. I was one of many in her house, and not an important one. I was grateful she took any time for me, in truth. My saving graces were my voice, which was sweet and mellow, and my feet, nimble and graceful. My grandmother enjoyed music, so brought me to her to play, and she liked to see good dancing, for she had been most talented before her joints had become inflamed.

  She was not displeased with me. I had reasonable skills for a woman. But my cousin could do all I could and more. She read many books, conversed on learned subjects suited to men, could ride, hunt and danced like an angel. When she lifted her voice to sing or speak, everyone fell silent.

  Anne Boleyn was indeed all anyone could speak of… how she had worn this dress or that, how hotly the King pursued her, and how she held him at bay. How she had declared Queen Katherine was not her mistress, and she wished all Spaniards were at the bottom of the sea. How the Queen had been sent away and the King saw her no more. How Anne was Queen in all but name.

  Other names were spoken with hers. Thomas Cranmer was a priest advising the King about his annulment; Thomas Cromwell was a commoner, once a mercenary who now was aiding the King and my cousin. He had been part of Wolsey’s household, but it was said all who had once gone to Wolsey went now to Cromwell. My uncle of Norfolk and Anne’s father and brother were their allies.

  Some called her names, but I defended her. She was not only my kinswoman but my father’s saviour. But, at times, especially when my grandmother spoke as though she were the only woman in our family, I wondered if I hated rather than loved her.

  I was in her shadow. She was the light, I the shade. Nothing I did could be as wondrous as what Anne achieved.

  “My granddaughter will be Queen,” said Agnes. “For a queen, the rules are different.”

  I did not point out no one had thought my cousin would become a queen, that would only earn me another clip. But I thought it.

  When in the mood for gossip, which was often, Agnes would tell me of my cousin, court, and my family. “Once, the Howards were no more noble than many,” she said. “They were seen as upstarts, pretenders. Your ancestors claimed they were Norman and Saxon, but many did not believe them. They knew they were farmers, once.”

  “If we were so low, Your Grace,” I said, “how did we rise so far?”

  She clipped me about the ear again, but deigned to answer. “How does any family rise?”

  My grandmother liked to answer questions with questions. She liked us to use our minds, and I suspected also liked to demonstrate how clever she was. “By favour of the King?” I asked.

  “Favour only goes so far, child. Look at Charles Brandon, best friend to the King, yet everyone looks down on him, remembering once he was no more than a stable boy. What will make his children greater than he, is not who his best friend is, but who he managed to get to the altar. The secret is marriage. Marriage is something Howards excel at.”

  She smiled, displaying wasted teeth. “Do you know what the name Howard means?” Before I could venture an answer, she went on. “It means two things. The first is ‘hardy and brave’, which is the only meaning the men in this fami
ly understand. The other is ‘guardian’. To my mind, that is the meaning women take of it.” She stared out of the window, and I knew she was not looking at the fields beyond the village, but at her own thoughts. “People say women are good for naught but breeding,” she went on. “And yet, without us, how would men rise to higher stations?”

  “Through war, Your Grace?”

  “Hah, you think of the Howard motto Sola virtus invicta, perhaps? Virtue alone invincible? Your grandfather liked to think he was invincible, and perhaps he was, on the battlefield, but Death claims us all in time. Men bring trouble, women bring wealth. The first Duke of Norfolk was once banished from England, did you know that? He lived as a vagrant in Europe, and when he died his titles went to his children. Thomas, his heir, was executed, but John, the second brother, understood what was required. He wed his sisters to powerful, rising men, and fifty years ago the Dukedom was restored to the Howards. Another John Howard, my father-in-law and your great-grandfather, stuck fast to the throne, fighting for Edward IV and Richard III. For loyalty, he was made Duke of Norfolk, and his son, your grandfather, Earl of Surrey.”

  “But then came Bosworth,” I said.

  My grandmother nodded. “Then Bosworth. It was by no means decided by fate, that battle, no matter what people say. Had Lord Stanley not turned on his King and supported Henry VII, it might easily have gone the other way, but when he turned, Richard was lost, and so were the Howards. Your great-grandfather died, and your grandfather was wounded and imprisoned. But the King saw my husband had only fought out of loyalty to the throne, not the King upon it, and released him. Through battle and with blood were the Howards restored, but by marriage did they rise.”

  So war is important too, then, I thought, but said nothing. My ear was sore.

  “The King was generous to your grandfather, for Henry VII saw your grandfather was, in heart, a loyal man… more loyal than the Stanleys, one of whom ended up on the block for treason. When released, your grandfather did all that was asked of him and won the trust of the King. At Flodden, your grandfather demonstrated his worth, and it was then the King forgave him.”

  “So, we rise by marriage,” I said.

  “And stay risen by favour,” finished my grandmother. “One is yeast, the other the oven.”

  My grandmother taught me much, but it was not from her alone that lessons came.

  At first, I was unaware of what happened in the maidens’ chamber at night. In my first months at Chesworth my days were so full I was exhausted when dusk fell. After a light supper of pottage and bread I fell into bed and slept like the dead. But one night near Christmas I woke because I had a bad dream, and heard voices.

  “Kat,” I whispered to my bedfellow. “There are men in the room.”

  “Of course there are,” she said sleepily, lifting her head to blink like a little owl. “They come almost every night.”

  “Why?”

  “To see Mistress Bulmer and the others,” she said quietly. “It does no harm. They are friends.”

  “Then why meet at night?”

  Kat smiled. “It is called bundling,” she explained. “Men who will one day wed women come by night and spend time with them. In the morning, they go with no one seeing them. That way, there is no scandal. They get used to one another before they are married. In daylight, men and women are not supposed to mix, but how are they to know they like each other unless they may talk and touch?”

  “They touch?”

  “They kiss and hold hands,” she said, yawning. “Sometimes more, sometimes less. The gentlemen bring treats, and woo the ladies. There is no sin, for it happened in the Bible. Ruth slept next to Boaz during the harvest.”

  I nodded. If it was in the Bible, it must be without sin.

  “This is how our friends secure husbands,” whispered Kat. “When a man promises marriage, the women make it a binding pre-contract by lying with them.” She smiled, stretching her arms through the warm, soft blankets. “And it is all most romantic. I want a beau one day who will bring me presents.”

  I rose as quietly as I could and inched to the curtain about the bed. Opening it a crack, I could see men and women sitting on the floor, surrounding platters of sweetmeats, sugared dates and pots of ale. They were laughing quietly. Some ladies sat with their heads on the shoulders of the men. One of the gallants pinched Joan on the bottom as she leaned forwards to take a slice of cherry preserve on bread, and she turned, a wide smile on her face as she cuffed his shoulder. Afraid to be seen, I carefully lay down next to Kat again.

  “They do it often,” she said, her eyes already closed.

  “How do they get in?” The door to the maidens’ chamber was locked each night from outside by Mother Emet, mistress of the maids.

  “They steal keys, or climb the lattice.”

  “And my grandmother does not know?”

  Those brown eyes opened. “She knows,” she said. “But you are to say nothing to her or anyone else.”

  “Why?”

  “It is a secret.”

  “But she knows.”

  “It is a secret everyone knows. There is no harm if everyone knows and says nothing. Women are not supposed to have men in their chambers. People would hear, and think them ruined, good for nothing, and our friends would not get the husbands they want. This way, they get to see which of the men they like, and the men get to see the same. Then, when they marry, they will be friends, more likely to be happy together.”

  “I see.” It sounded sensible.

  I snuggled down and she put her arms about me. “There is no harm,” she said drowsily, “as long as we all keep the secret.”

  Chapter Five

  Chesworth House

  Winter - Summer 1532

  “At least you can dance.”

  My grandmother’s voice rang out like a bell in the cold chamber as I came to the close of my performance. Grudging respect crept from her tone, but I dared not smile. Women were not supposed to be prideful. That was for men. Women had to be modest about any accomplishment. Yet although I should not have felt it, pride bloomed in my heart like one of the pale snowdrops coming to life under trees in the orchard. It was sinful, but I could not help it. I yearned to be admired.

  “You are not as elegant as your cousin,” she added, reading my thoughts. Like willow switches lashed against skin to chastise for a fault in lessons, this blow was intended to flog my spirit, to make me humble. But not knowing that was her purpose, and my dancing was in fact lovely, my young heart dropped. I was never as good as Anne Boleyn.

  When I dared to glance up, my grandmother had a smile on her face, but not for me. Her eyes were far away, at the court of the King where my cousin was, charming all men, bending them to her will. When my grandmother looked at me, her eyes were dancing. “Come hither,” she said, taking something from her girdle.

  I went to her, glancing down at a miniature of a young woman with raven-black hair and striking eyes. “This is she,” said my grandmother. “Anne.”

  “She is pretty, Your Grace,” I said.

  “No, she is not,” said my grandmother. “You are prettier, but she has something else, something you have not.”

  I waited for her to enlighten me.

  “She has magnetism… a lure like no other. When she opens her mouth, everyone falls silent. When she enters a room, everyone watches…” Agnes chuckled “… especially the King.”

  “And he will marry her, Your Grace.”

  “He has set heart and mind on her, and if there is one thing you should know of our King, it is when he becomes set on something, he will have it.”

  My grandmother told me the King had set eyes on Anne when first she came to court, a few years before I was born. But then, he had been keeping her sister as his mistress. “It took some time for him to notice Anne properly,” she said.

  “I thought everyone noticed her immediately, Your Grace,” I said, unthinkingly, and received a slap on the thigh for contradicting my elder.
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  “He did notice her,” she said. “But it would hardly be proper for a man to take two sisters as mistresses, would it?” She went on to explain that his love for Anne had grown, stripping aside reason and logic, until he could contain it no more. He had cast off Mary Boleyn and offered Anne the vacant place in his bed. “But she would not accept,” my grandmother chuckled. “She said ‘your wife I cannot be, both for my own unworthiness and because you have a wife already. Your mistress I will never be!’”

  Even I, young and foolish though I was, knew how daring a statement this was to make to a king.

  “And with that, the chase was on,” said my grandmother. “And what a merry dance she led him! Knowing he was thinking of casting aside his wife, Anne held out, and now the King is convinced his first marriage is illegal, as Queen Katherine was first wed to his brother before she married him. That makes them brother and sister in the eyes of God. The Almighty will not bless an unholy union, which is why they have no son.”