Shadow of Persephone

by G Lawrence

  “Good for the faith perhaps, but not our Queen,” said William. “All know her for a reformer, and the new ambassador from France is due to arrive soon. If King François remains irritated, talks about the marriage of the Princess and his son might go badly.”

  “But Lord Rochford, the Queen’s brother, has been sent to meet the ambassador,” said my grandmother. “So the King clearly thinks this of no true importance.”

  But soon it appeared my uncle was right. Philippe de Chabot de Brion, Admiral of France, came to England and there was word from court that he was not friendly to the Queen.

  “He loathes her,” said Norfolk, amused. “It cannot be anything else. I helped George with the arrangements of Brion’s journey myself. The ambassador had a train of hundreds and three hundred and fifty horses. Every night we dined with lords and Brion was merry. It was only when he got to court and the Queen tried to charm him that he turned cold.”

  “Do you think his King ordered this?”

  Norfolk nodded. “François has encouraged his people to denounce all heretics, and people have burned at the stake. It is personal, you see?” Norfolk took some ale from Joan. “The placards attacked the King’s Church and, by association, his rule.”

  “And so the ambassador is cool with the Queen?”

  Norfolk laughed. “He will not even see her. He ignored her messages and invitations, and did not even send a polite note when he arrived. She holds tennis matches and entertainments, but he fails to attend or spends all his time with me and Suffolk, ignoring Thomas and George Boleyn.” Norfolk sniffed. “Truth be told, it is time the Boleyns had a lesson in humility. They are too proud, particularly George.”

  “What says the King?”

  “He is annoyed, but told his wife she was being paranoid.” Norfolk cocked his head. “She thinks differently, and for good reason. Brion has made friends with Chapuys. It is clear his master is seeking friendship with Spain.”

  And then, there was worse news. The French ambassador proposed marrying the Dauphin to Lady Mary, not Princess Elizabeth.

  “But… that would mean the undoing of the Act of Succession, and the ruin of the Queen and her daughter!” my grandmother said, aghast.

  “The Queen screeched much the same at the King,” said Norfolk. “All at court could hear her, wailing like a banshee of Scotland.”

  “The King did not agree?”

  “He did not,” said Norfolk. “But he understands. The French do not wish to recognise Princess Elizabeth.” He sighed. “Mary is the better choice, not only for her age, but birth. Many still think her legitimate.”

  “That is treason, my son.”

  “That is truth. The Emperor, the Pope, the King of France… they all think it too. That is clear. And France has abandoned the Queen.”

  “How is she?”

  “Brash, as usual. She knows the danger, and blazons it out, but Brion threatened that if the King did not agree, François would wed his heir to the Emperor’s daughter instead, leaving England alone in Europe.” Norfolk grimaced, rubbing his belly. “And restoring Mary to the succession would be a good thing for the true faith.”

  “Yet we would be no more connected to the throne.”

  “True, but the Boleyn connection is not good. Spain will never support the Queen or her children, and now France does not either. It might be dangerous to remain connected to the Queen, and she has shown she is not suited to this role. She screams like a mad harpy when anything goes wrong, and her sister is a whore.”

  “Queen Anne is not accountable for her sister,” said my grandmother.

  “It demonstrates there is moral turpitude in the family,” said Norfolk. “As if we knew that not already.”

  When Norfolk left, my grandmother glanced at me. “You will say nothing of what you heard,” she said quietly.

  “Of course not, my lady.”

  I kept my promise. I had no wish to tell anyone how horribly my cousin was being treated.

  *

  “The parrot was heard saying to the Dowager Countess of Kildare that the French wanted Mary for she is the King’s true daughter,” said my aunt. “And the Poles, Courtenays and Carewes have joined in, saying Mary should be restored to the succession. The King says nothing to contradict them. Some say he is thinking of restoring the Lady Mary.”

  My grandmother looked sad, picking at her usual treats with no appetite.

  “The King and Queen are fighting, often,” Katherine went on. “And Thomas More is in more trouble. He has been writing inflammatory tracts.”

  “How, when he is a prisoner?” asked my grandmother, at last looking up.

  “He was permitted privileges, like writing materials, but has been sending letters to Fisher and writing new works. Some have been smuggled into London.”

  “What are these works?”

  “One is called A Dialogue of Comfort Against Tribulation. The subject is that comfort may only be found through God, and the dialogue is a narrative on worldly power. Cromwell has sent men to find and burn the copies, but there are many about London. More has been put under harsh guard again, not even permitted to hear Mass, so I hear.”

  “I take it More’s conclusions on worldly power were not to the King’s liking?”

  “Indeed.” Katherine paused. “More also said ill words about the Queen. His daughter spoke about her… how all there was about the Queen was dancing and flirting… and More said whilst her ‘dance’ might now spurn heads from necks like footballs, it would not be long before her head would dance a like dance.”

  “Does he wish for death?”

  “Perhaps. And there is more. The Queen held a banquet for Brion, where the King spent all his time talking to a young, pretty maid. The Queen watched him and burst out laughing. Everyone thought she had lost her mind, and the ambassador was affronted. He thought she was laughing at him. ‘My lady,’ he said coldly. ‘Do you mock me?’ but the Queen laughed only harder and said, ‘No, no, dear Admiral, I laugh because the King had gone to bring your secretary to introduce to me, but instead has met a most beautiful lady who has made him forget all other pursuits. Such is the way with the King!’” My aunt sighed. “I was told she wept later, in her rooms.”

  “She loves the King. It must be hard to see him with other women, but she should remember she is the Queen!”

  “Then, Lord Rochford had a public argument with his cousin, Francis Bryan.”

  “About what?”

  “About nothing. People say Bryan wants no more to do with his cousins, and was seeking to make trouble. But the King forgave them, and George Boleyn is high in favour.”

  My aunt later sent word that the King was making friends with Lubeckian and Hamburg merchants, many of whom were Lutherans. She also sent word that the Queen had had a major argument with Norfolk, which had ended with him shouting, “That woman is no Queen! Queen Katherine was a true queen! Anne Boleyn is nothing but a grande putain!”

  Norfolk’s bluster earned him a stern scolding from Cromwell, sent by the King. But that Christmas, as my cousin spent time with her beloved daughter, many were repeating Norfolk’s insult.

  We heard Norfolk was dining with all the enemies of the Queen he could find, including Chapuys. Once, my uncle and the ambassador had not been good friends, but that was all forgot. My grandmother became nervous. She supported the Queen, but Norfolk was head of our house. If he commanded her to no more honour the Queen, she might have to obey.

  “It is no more just the country that is split,” she said to herself one day. “But our family.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chesworth House

  Winter 1535

  That New Year’s, as presents were exchanged at Chesworth, they were too at court. Lord Darcy, one of Katherine’s silent supporters, presented a sword and a golden brooch, bearing a forget-me-not flower upon it, to Ambassador Chapuys. It sounded nothing to me, but my grandmother thought otherwise.

  “It is a sign he is the Emperor’s man,�
�� she muttered, reading a letter from my aunt.

  There was talk of invasion. It was said the Emperor had sent men to an Irish lord and meant to invade England through Ireland. It was also said my cousin was being cruel to Lady Mary. When Lady Mary became sick again people said my cousin was hounding her to death.

  None of this made sense. I knew she was a kind woman, our angel, so how could this be?

  “The King has said the Lady Mary might move closer to her mother’s house,” Joan told us after coming from my grandmother’s chamber. Her task that afternoon had been to read a letter to my grandmother from Norfolk.

  “They will be together again!” exclaimed Alice, smacking her palms together in happiness.

  “No,” said Joan. “The King will allow them to live closer to each other, yet not see one another. But Norfolk also wrote that the King heard about the Queen being harsh with his daughter, and he shouted at her. But what do you think? She would have none of it!”

  Joan told us the Queen had loudly declared, before witnesses, that the King was indebted to her as she had freed him from a sinful marriage, and he owed her much.

  We all stared at Joan. It seemed impossible.

  “The Queen said she had taken measures against the Lady Mary in order to protect the King and their daughter,” Joan said. “Fearing Lady Mary might escape England and return with the Emperor’s army, the Queen made sure she was unable to. The Queen said she had done nothing but her sacred duty as Queen and mother. The King was astonished, and said nothing.”

  So that is why she appeared cruel, I thought.

  Norfolk wrote indignantly not long after to say he was in trouble with the King for not taking harder measures against a monk who had preached a sermon criticizing the royal supremacy.

  It seemed it was dangerous to be about the King at the moment, unless you were the bold, wonderful, undaunted Queen.

  *

  “Cromwell is to survey all religious houses in England,” said my uncle William.

  “For what purpose?” asked my grandmother.

  “To uncover abuses and allegiance to Rome,” he said. “Commands will be issued, requiring all clergymen to personally take the Oath of Succession, as well as their religious orders as a whole, and to ensure that none of them follow the doctrine of Rome, or demonstrate obedience to the Pope. Religious orders are to no more concentrate on clothes or shaving their heads, but will instead rely upon cleanliness of mind, pureness of living.”

  “That is a good thing, surely?”

  “There is more. Relics are to be investigated, taken from display if found to be false.”

  My grandmother hesitated. “That will cause unrest. People are devoted to their relics. They bring luck to their parish, food to the fields, they make the sick well.”

  My grandmother was being careful, but I knew she thought this way too. Long had she lectured us on which saints to pray to for which ailment; Saint Petronilla for fevers, Saint Clare for sore eyes, Saint Genow to cure gout, Saint Appollania for toothache, and other saints aided in other ways. A prayer to Saint Anthony of Padua could aid someone in finding lost treasures, Saint Honoratus helped bread and cakes to rise, and Saint Leonard would set the innocent free. She had a number of personal relics herself, which she prayed to and she venerated those kept in churches. Relics held sacred powers, could help people to reach God, and they performed miracles. A fragment of the True Cross in the Benedictine Priory of Bromholme in Norfolk was said to have brought dead men back to life. Some relics cured the blind and deaf, made the lame walk and aided sickly babes in growing hale. Take away relics, and the people lost their links to miracles which would save lives, or at least make them more bearable.

  “Long has it been said many of the relics held by the Church are false, and monasteries grow fat on the coin of pilgrims,” said my uncle William. “I agree this will not be easy to enforce, but the King means to clamp down. Restrictions on monasteries will be more strictly imposed. Enclosure is one.”

  “The King objects to monks leaving the boundaries of their house? But why? All they do is trade for the benefit of the abbey.”

  “The King means to enforce it. He says if solitude is the term of service offered to God, it should be honoured.”

  “How are abbots to collect rents due to their houses, or sell produce? Monasteries rely on a certain amount of contact with the world. Without that, how are they to live?”

  “You are not alone in thinking that way. Many are uneasy, Mother. Houses beyond help will be dissolved, and their wealth will go to the Crown. It is said it will be used for charitable purposes, but many suspect this is not what will happen. Cromwell’s men have been told to gather information on the possessions of each house, and there is much talk at court about the King’s plans for his navy and castles. The King has no money for new fortifications. He has spent much of what his careful father left him. There is a rumour he means to take what he needs from the Church, using these investigations as an excuse.”

  “People think the King would steal from God?” My grandmother had gone deathly pale.

  “Indeed. The Queen is about court telling everyone the money will go towards reforming bad houses, and those closed will be made into educational establishments, so the poor can be taught well, but many think she is either lying or fooling herself.”

  “But monasteries provide medical care, education, alms and employ many people on their farms and estates. Without them, what will the poor do?”

  “There is talk of hospitals being built, but again, many think this is not true.” William ran a hand through his hair. “And most monasteries are corrupt. You know that as well as I. Perhaps it is time they were reformed, but I worry this is not reform.”

  “What do you think it is?”

  “Obliteration… for the King’s gain.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chesworth House

  Winter - Spring 1535

  At the end of January the King had a new title; “Henry VIII, by the Grace of God, King of England and of France, Defender of the Faith, and Lord of Ireland, Supreme Head of the Church of England.”

  Suddenly no one could walk a step without hearing of the ills of Rome. Sermons preached in London, Bristol and York were copied and sent out. It was said anyone still loyal to Rome in deed or heart was a traitor.

  Some said loudly this was but a return to the old ways. In ancient times, the kings of England had been as our King was now, emperor and pope in his kingdom. Others whispered it was not so, and this was a usurpation of holy power. The Pope was leader of the Church. The King was turning his back on God, dragging all of England with him. It would end in damnation.

  Whispers of rebellion came. Many muttered Lady Mary would be set upon her father’s throne. Everyone was saying people would rise up, but it always seemed to be those of another county. One day the men of Kent were set to rebel, it was whispered, another day it was men of Yorkshire.

  There were tales the Queen was supporting foreign heretics, and it was her idea to attack monasteries. People ignored all she said of charity, education and hospitals and blamed her for anything ill.

  There was much snickering when a canon in Somerset led prayers for Queen Katherine. It was said he was old and had forgotten who was Queen, but some said he had known what he was doing.

  “Mark my words,” said an old man tending raised beds as I passed with a basket of leeks for the kitchen. “The goggle-eyed whore will have that canon killed.”

  Nothing happened to him, but that did not matter. People still spoke ill of her. There were arrests in London and elsewhere, but still people talked, calling her whore and witch. Only with my grandmother did I hear anything good about her.

  “The Queen’s ladies spend each and every day sewing for the poor,” she told me. There was a defensive note in her voice, as though she too had heard the slanders. “The Queen sends blankets to pregnant women, money to poor widows and those who care for orphans, and she and her women make rich ite
ms for the royal chapel, to honour God. She is also a generous patron of education, supporting many promising scholars. Even the son of Cardinal Wolsey was granted a large sum when he lately came begging to her!”

  “The… son of Cardinal Wolsey, my lady?” I asked, confused.

  “Men of the Church slip sometimes, child,” she said.

  I had a lot to learn, obviously.

  *

  On Shrove Tuesday, the last day before the fast of Lent, there were festivities. It was usual, as pleasure and good food would be absent for forty days. In Lent, no eggs, meat, milk or butter were allowed, so we would eat fish, bread and vegetables until Easter Sunday. Apprentices and children turned riotous on Shrove Tuesday, although in truth apprentices needed little encouragement; if there was trouble in a town, they were likely behind it. That day there was football in the parks and in the village, dances in the afternoon and night, all the village maids skipping in a long line using a washing line, and cockfights and cock threshing, where the bird was either tied to the ground by a stake or to someone’s back, as others threw sticks at it.